


We'll Be the Fine Line

by snugglewithlou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Brief mentions of other boys, But Sweet, Canon Compliant, Eventual Happy Ending, Fine Line, Fluff, Harry Styles - Freeform, Louis Tomlinson - Freeform, M/M, Sad with a Happy Ending, Smut, Top!Harry, a little bit of, bottom!Louis, i'm so bad at tags, maybe you'll cry, non-au, one direction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:35:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 32,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21992308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snugglewithlou/pseuds/snugglewithlou
Summary: “…hey, Harry. It’s Louis…… um, yeah. Listened to the album tonight. It’s real good mate. Um, yeah, just real, impressed. I was kinda putting it off, ya’know, didn’t know if I wanted to listen to it. Saw you went on James and, uh, Saturday Night Live. Couldn’t watch you, have a hard time watching you on these things……. Anyway, mate, just thought I would drop a line. Don’t need to call me back. Alright.”Louis listens to Fine Line, and, drunk, he leaves a voicemail for Harry after months of not speaking. This reminds Harry of a time before everything fell apart, slowly, painfully, a time when the two of them were still in love. And he desperately wants to go back.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 116
Kudos: 652





	1. Time Takes Time to Heal It

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [We'll Be the Fine Line – Spanish Translation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28858398) by [cherrytwinks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrytwinks/pseuds/cherrytwinks)



Harry brought the phone up to his ear to listen to the message: 

“…hey, Harry. It’s Louis…… um, yeah. Listened to the album tonight. It’s real good mate. Um, yeah, just real, impressed. I was kinda putting it off, ya’know, didn’t know if I wanted to listen to it. Saw you went on James and, uh, Saturday Night Live. Couldn’t watch you, have a hard time watching you on these things……. Anyway, mate, just thought I would drop a line. Don’t need to call me back. Alright.”

After listening once, Harry listened again. And again. And again. Him and Louis hadn’t talked on the phone in months. 

2 a.m.. The timestamp of the voicemail flatters Harry—Louis was thinking of him that late on New Years Eve. Harry had already passed out; he would be ashamed to tell anyone that last night he had left the party and drank himself asleep, alone. He would even be ashamed to tell Louis that.

Harry shuffled out into his LA kitchen, putting on the coffee maker and sitting at a counter stool. It was a beautiful first of January—the Valley was sunny and green, probably seventy degrees. He looked out at his patio and pool, and, suddenly, Louis was there, dressed in the green Adidas jumpsuit Harry got for him one Christmas, hands in his pockets.

He turns to Harry, looking at him through the glass. Harry hears him, clear as day, “I like it alright.”

Then he was gone, the patio was empty, and Harry was alone. He rubbed his eyes and heard his phone vibrate—it was a text from Lily, telling him she’s at the gate.

Lily was Harry’s assistant—a lovely American from Indiana who joined Harry’s team as a marketing intern two years prior, who Harry had hit it off with. A tall brunette who loved playing tennis, especially with Harry, she was one of the most genuine people Harry had met in LA. She was a great listener and wasn’t concerned with Harry’s romantic life—at all. She would prefer if she never knew anything about it at all. That was Harry’s favorite thing about her.

He buzzed her into the front gate and went to meet her at the front door. After pulling up and parking, she got out of her car, holding fast food bags and an iced coffee.

“Hi dear,” Harry croaked, his voice hoarse.

“Long night?” Lily asked, smiling in a way that alerted Harry she knew the answer.

“It was pathetic. Left the party and finished a bottle of wine alone,” Harry gently kissed her on the cheek, ushering her inside.

“Got you a bagel,” she handed him one of the bags.”

“Bless you,” he responded, taking it from her and going to pour her a glass of water.

“How do you feel this morning?” she asked him, sitting down.

“How do you think I feel?” he joked, handing her the glass.

“Hungover.”

Harry nodded, and realized it was less the feeling of alcohol sitting heavy in his stomach and more the voicemail from Louis that was leaving him feeling off. Sick. Wanting to sleep. 

They were quiet for a moment, and Lily sensed there was something wrong. After a year of being Harry’s assistant, she felt she could read him pretty well. When he acted like this, there was something he wanted to talk to her about, but, being Harry, he feared that he couldn’t talk without talking as Harry Styles—popstar. He just wanted to talk as Harry. A person.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Harry looked at her, for a long moment, deciding whether or not to tell her about the voicemail.

He decides to tell her.

“Louis called me last night.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you pick up?”

“No, I was asleep.”

Lily was shocked. She knew very little about Louis, but she knew enough to know that a voicemail was a big deal.

Lily studied Harry, trying to see what he needed from her. She took a risk.

“What did he say?”

“That he listened to the album.” Harry was speaking eagerly, as if he needed someone to tell him something, something he wanted to believe but needed to be told.

“That’s all he said?”

“He said he didn’t know if he wanted to listen to it for a while,” Harry added, watching Lily.

“Did he sound drunk?” she asked.

“A little,” Harry said. “He definitely wasn’t sober.”

“When was the last time you talked?”

“When Felicite died,” Harry replied quietly. “March.”

The two sat in silence for a moment, and Lily asked, “Do you want to call him back?”

“He said not to,” Harry said.

“So?” Lily shrugged. “You didn’t ask him to call you.”

Harry had never seen Lily give so much advice to him about something like this, so it didn’t surprise him when she seemed to tap out.

“So you think I should call him back?” Harry asked.

“If I were you, I would,” Lily said. “But I’m not. So it’s up to you.”

Harry looked out at the patio, wanting to imagine Louis there again, when they were younger, when Harry wasn’t afraid to ring him, before everything went to shit, when Louis loved him and he loved Louis.

But that was a long time ago. He took a sip of coffee.


	2. I Should Have Kissed You

Lily and Harry moved outside once they finished their coffee, beginning a short walk through Harry’s sprawling lawn, green and manicured despite it being January. Harry decided that, whether or not Lily liked it, she would hear all about him and Louis. He didn’t know what else to talk about. 

“I had never felt whatever it was I felt when I saw him for the first time,” Harry said as Lily listened.

She was warming up to Harry wanting to talk to her about Louis—perhaps it was half curiosity—he never talked about it—and perhaps it was also that Harry was a great storyteller. She didn’t love it at first, but it grew on her.

“And I’m serious,” he looked at her, with faux seriousness. “I had never liked a boy before, really. I don’t know if you’ve seen him in those old X-Factor videos. But he was just… kind of electric.”

“I’ve seen them,” Lily nodded, smiling, “I was also a teenager once.”

Harry laughed, “Wow, even you?”

“Sue me,” Lily sighs, but Harry continues.

“But, there was something about him, right? I was instantly attracted to him. And he was to me, too. He never let anyone say anything even remotely mean to me—if someone looked at me wrong he would be like, ‘What did they do to you? Are you ok?’ But you don’t know where to put any of that attraction when you’re a kid so for a while it was just like we were wrestling all the time and Louis was just screaming at anyone who breathed in my direction.

“I liked it at first, because I got to touch him, but then it got frustrating, because it was wrestling. Wrestling is the worst. I never stopped liking his defensiveness, though.”

Lily laughed, “When was the first time you kissed?”

“It was actually after our second-to-last episode. You would think it would have happened sooner; we just didn’t know what to do with ourselves,” Harry continued. “It was confusing to feel like that about a person you had convinced yourself was ‘just a friend.’ We got kind of drunk on champagne, went back to his hotel room, and just made out.”

“That’s kind of embarrassing,” Lily told him.

“I know,” Harry sighed, “but I was sixteen. Making out is the pinnacle of all things when you’re sixteen.”

Harry seemed lost in thought for a moment, looking wistfully down at his feet as they walk. “But after that first time, we really just sunk into it and we had, like, six months of this amazing togetherness. We bought a house in London and moved in together.

“We started recording Up All Night, and it all just kind of felt like a dream. This weird dream that I had when I was fourteen, that I became successful and fell in love and when I wake up, I’m successful and in love.”

Harry remembered, to himself, the first time him and Louis slept together. It was the night after they made out for hours, when they went back to the judges’ houses. Harry told Louis to meet him in his bunk once the others went to bed, and, just like they planned, Louis climbed up into Harry’s bunk around midnight, and a very awkward night of lovemaking ensued. Neither one of them had been with another guy, and Harry had never been with anyone. Despite this, he topped, both of them experiencing a lot of trial and error. Harry got off in what felt like seconds, but couldn’t find Louis’s prostate, so there was a very apologetic and worrisome blowjob at the end. Louis didn’t mind at all.

“Whatcha thinking about there?” Lily asked slyly, watching Harry get further lost in thought.

Harry blushed, looking at her, “I think you know.” 

“Ew,” Lily joked, elbowing Harry.

“Hey, at least I didn’t share,” he defended himself jokingly.

“At least?” Lily sarcastically exclaimed, looking at Harry.

“Oh, stop it. It was great,” he said, before he realized how it sounds.

“Again!” Lily exclaimed, “I don’t need to know!”

“I didn’t mean the sex!” Harry nearly cried. “I just meant everything. I didn’t mean the sex.”

Lily bumps into him softly as they walk, “Alright, keep going.”

“So we record Up All Night, and we’re really not sure about how popular we’ll be. But people still like us, and I was just riding this incredible high. At this point, the other boys knew we were together, most of the people working directly with us did too, and it wasn’t really an issue. Until this new hire came in, his name was Ben Gabbards, and he talked to Louis separately one day.

“Louis never really told me exactly what he said, I think he wanted to spare me, but it was along the lines of, ‘No teenage girls will be fans of fags, and no parents will want their teenage girls to be fans of fags, and if you want to ever make it, you can’t be gay.’ I have a feeling it was a lot worse.”

Lily watched Harry intently, feeling the sadness surrounding this that he still carries with him.

“It was terrible,” Harry said quietly, “I had never seen him so defeated. He withdrew from me publicly; he would cry at night. It really changed him. But he tried his best to still love me in private. And sometimes not so privately. I mean all of that tour was us being too affectionate on stage and then getting in trouble, Louis taking most of the blame, and rinse and repeat.

“He was on this strange plane of not wanting to be gay but also wanting to be so obviously gay, it was confusing for him. It was also confusing for me. But I know I didn’t really get the same amount of trouble from management. He always felt like he needed to protect me. Maybe he did.”

They were silent for a little while, walking up a hill towards the end of Harry’s property. Lily felt like she was getting to know a whole new side of Harry—a side that had been heavily guarded, partly by him and partly by Louis—a side that seemed so young and naïve. But the light in his eyes when he described that year was undeniable—she could remember few times when his face lit up like that.

“He took me on vacation when I turned seventeen. It was so fun. We went to New York City and did like a Valentine’s thing—we got dinner and champagne, got a hotel with rose petals on the bed and a jacuzzi. He bought the whole thing and loved planning it, checking off things on our itinerary. We realized we were becoming famous that trip; more and more people were recognizing us. It was really surreal.”

Harry remembered the first time he found Louis’ prostate. He can’t believe it’s such a vivid memory—but it was on that birthday trip, on that rose petal bed, after a night of wandering the city. Sex up to then had been wonderful for both of them, but always left Harry feeling a little bad. He would get off every time, while Louis desperately shifted, looking for him to hit that spot he heard so many good things about. They got into rimming and fingering more, but Harry could tell Louis just really wanted Harry to find his prostate. And Harry couldn’t blame him.

They were especially in tune that night, and Harry insisted on doing missionary despite Louis claiming it was easier for him to be on his stomach, and it was magical. Harry can still see the face Louis made.

“That sounds lovely,” Lily told Harry.

“It was,” Harry responded. “It was so lovely. I would live that year again if I could.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some very vague and soft smut for you guys. i might go a bit more in detail later if you guys want me to!! happy holidays :))


	3. Putting A Price on Emotion

Harry and Lily concluded their walk by sharing a joint on Harry’s back porch. The sun was flirting with setting, the smoke circling them contributing to the haze around the warm afternoon.

Harry had never really talked about the next part—it was when things started getting complicated, when it was easier to not talk about these things rather than talk about them. Lily was captivated by the story now—she couldn’t understand how two people who seemed so in love not even ten years ago could be so out of touch.

“Then Eleanor came into the picture,” Harry took a hit off the joint, holding it between his index finger and thumb. “From the beginning it was hard. You know, management seemed a lot more concerned with Louis. Someone even told me once that people would take me as I was, but Louis had to fit an expectation. At the time, I don’t know, maybe I was naïve or, I don’t know, dumb, but I didn’t really understand.

“But I think I do now. It was always harder for Louis. Somehow he couldn’t get away with being different like I sometimes was. He had to be straight and narrow.”

Harry sighs and passes the joint to Lily, “But, yeah, Eleanor. She was nice, pretty, I remember when I first met her I liked her, and, really, I think Louis did too. It was kind of like shaking hands with the situation. It wasn’t ideal. I mean, he had to pretend to have a girlfriend.”

“And you had to watch him kiss her,” Lily added, exhaling smoke.

Harry nodded, “Exactly. Tricky shit.”

Lily passes the joint and Harry continues. “It started off that the two would date for like, four months, just to clear the air. Rumors were becoming less and less speculation and more, well, factual. But then, management just pushed and pushed, and there was no foreseeable end to it.

“I got really pissed with Louis. I felt like he wasn’t putting his foot down hard enough.”

Harry remembers silently one of the biggest fights him and Louis had about it. Louis had come home from an event with Eleanor, and Harry had made dinner to surprise him. Louis, however, was too tired to stay up and eat and wanted to go to bed.

“I made dinner,” Harry remembers saying, smiling.

He remembers how tired Louis looked—he almost looked ill. “I’m too tired, hon, I’m sorry.”

“Come on, just real quick, then we can go to bed,” Harry pushed.

“Thanks, mate, I just really need to pass out—”

“I made chicken cordon bleu, it’s your favo—”

“For the love of God, Harry,” Louis interrupted abruptly, “let me go to bed.”

Harry remembered the feeling—it was almost like carpet burn—there are worse feelings, but when you got it, it’s pretty bad.

“What happened?” Harry asked.

Louis made his way towards their stairs, his back to him. “Nothing, I’m just tired.”

“Can’t you just sit with me, I haven’t seen you all day,” Harry said.

Louis turned around, standing a few steps up, “Are you listening to me? I’m fucking exhausted.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. Louis turned and started up the steps. Harry remembers thinking to himself: Don’t say it. He’s just tired. He’ll feel better in the morning.

But he didn’t listen to himself. He was too angry. It felt like Louis wasn’t trying hard enough.

“You can’t stay up an hour to have dinner with your boyfriend?” Harry remembers the harshness of his words. “After a day with your beard.”

Louis turned and went down a few steps, “What did you just say?”

“You heard me,” Harry said, immediately regretting it.

“You can’t put this on me,” Louis said angrily, “you’re not the one who has to parade around with a girl to convince everyone you’re not gay.”

Harry was too far in to stop then. “But if I was, I would still come home and make the sacrifice of an hour to eat with you.”

Harry will never forget the look on Louis’s face. It was pissed betrayal, but Harry can remember the glossed over look in his eyes.

“Fuck you, Harry.”

Louis turned and went up the stairs, effectively ending the conversation.

“Fuck you, too,” Harry got his final word in, his blood boiling.

In retrospect, both of them were right and wrong. Harry could have been more understanding. And maybe Louis could have stayed up.

“But I was being too hard on him,” Harry told Lily, coming back to reality.

“Well, maybe you weren’t,” Lily said. “We tend to be harder on ourselves in hindsight.”

“I mean, imagine how you would feel,” Harry began. “You’re dating someone, but for some reason, according to a higher power, no one else can know. And not only can no one else know, but you also have to convince them you’re in love with someone else.

“I know it tortured him.”

Lily nodded, taking a hit and looking out into the Valley.

“We stayed together, but we were barely together,” Harry said. “We lived in the same house and drove to the studio together to write and record Four, and that was about it. He was with Eleanor and sleeping in the guest room, and that’s when I really started drinking. It was hard. I was jealous and he was exhausted. We had a few good days. Filming the Night Changes music video was one of them.”

Harry could count on two hands the amount of times him and Louis had slept together during that year. It was hard to remind themselves they actually liked each other. One of those times was the wrapping night of the music video, which was at the end of a week that Louis hadn’t been with Eleanor at all.

Harry remembered getting back to their house, his arm wrapped around Louis’s shoulders and Louis’s around his waist. Louis hadn’t slept in his own bed all week. They made their way up the stairs, and, once in their bedroom the two fell onto the bed, and Harry made his way on top of Louis. Louis held his face gently, thumbing over his cheek bones.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been distant,” he whispered.

“It’s ok,” Harry replied, “I’m sorry, too.”

The two looked at each other for a long moment.

“I don’t ever want to be strangers,” Louis whispered, worry deep in his eyes.

Harry nodded and kissed him, softly and slowly. “I love you,” Harry whispered.

“I love you,” Louis responded, pulling Harry’s face to his again, kissing him just as softly and slowly.

Coming back to his back porch, coming back to Lily, he said, “But the good days weren’t really enough to keep it as good as it had been. Between the Midnight Memories tour and Four tour I really wanted to go back to London and see family, but Louis had to stay in LA with Eleanor. He asked me to stay, and I didn’t.”

The gravity of what he just said hit Harry suddenly. “I don’t know why I didn’t just stay. We would talk on the phone, but after the first month we would maybe talk once a week. It was definitely estranged, but I think both of us were too afraid to break up with each other. Like we didn’t know if we would still people if we weren’t together.

“But Four is released and the tour is booked, and when I see Louis at the beginning of the tour, it’s been four months. He’s the kind of person I can just pick right back up with, but there was a lot of trepidation. We weren’t sure if we were together or not. I mean, in those four months, he saw Eleanor more than he talked to me. They effectively had more of a relationship then me and him did, in those terms.”

“Was touring hard, then?” Lily asked. “I mean, I would think it’s hard to spend nearly all your time with a person who you’re sure where you stand with.”

“It was really hard,” Harry laughed lightly, “but when we toured Eleanor wasn’t around and Louis became a lot less distracted, and I became a lot less jealous. So we fell back into it again. Those few months felt kind of like right after the X-Factor, I felt really young and energized, and Louis felt like mine and we were together. It was a really stable thing.”

Harry took one last hit from the joint and put it out in the ashtray after Lily declined one last hit.

“I did a lot of the writing for the first album then. Sweet Creature was written when me and Louis vacationed in Bali,” Harry smiled, looking at Lily as if she was getting very titillating insider information.

“Really?” Lily smiled.  
“Yeah,” Harry nodded, “and Louis heard me tinkering with it so much he threatened to break my guitar if I played the chorus again.”

Lily laughed, “Was he always like that?”

“Like what?” Harry asked, smiling.

“Um, short tempered?” Lily said, not sure if her word choice was right.

“No, not short-tempered. Not with me, at least,” Harry said. “But definitely sassy. He’s sassy.”

Him and Lily laughed, and Harry continued, “But never tell him that.”

“But he has the original piece of paper I wrote the first draft of it on,” Harry told her. “Well, I hope he does. I wrote it all out one night after he passed out, drunk on red wine. He fell asleep directly after telling me he wanted to rip all my clothes off. He was a vision drunk and asleep.

“The first draft was a lot happier than the final one. I wrote the other parts when we stopped talking,” Harry said, his voice trailing off. “But I’m glad that’s the one he has. I meant it when I wrote that one. He did bring me home; he was my sweet creature.

“I was reading Othello that vacation. He would nap and I would read. In Act III Iago, who’s the main antagonist, says, ‘In sleep I heard him say ‘Sweet Desdemona, Let us be wary, let us hide our loves.’ And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my hand, Cry ‘O sweet creature!’ and then kiss me hard, as if he plucked up kisses by the roots that grew upon my lips, lay his leg over my thigh, and sigh, and kiss.’ I couldn’t resist it. It was too beautiful.”

Lily watched Harry stare at the setting sun, lost in thought, captivated by the idea of his once-sweet creature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyyyyy !! thanks for reading <3


	4. Something That I Used to Feel

Louis and Harry were sitting on their couch, the TV playing lazily in the background. Louis was leaning against one arm of the couch and Harry was against the other, their legs tangled. Harry was holding a paperback copy of The Fountainhead, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and Louis was beginning to doze off.

Harry looked at Louis over the top of his book and smiled slyly, putting his bookmark in the book and setting it down on the floor. He sat up and slowly crawled towards Louis, waking him with a soft kiss.

“Hey,” he whispered.

Louis opened his eyes slowly, blinking, confused but smiling, “Hey.” 

As they kissed, the kisses became sloppier, heavier, and Harry began to trail kisses down Louis’s neck, lifting his shirt over his head, making his way down to the waistband of his joggers. Louis took hold of the bottom of Harry’s shirt and began to take it off him, but it got caught on Harry’s headband.

“I swear to God,” Louis whispered, “the headband.”

The two laughed as Harry tried to untangle himself, and, once the shirt and headband were off, Louis pulled him down into a kiss. Harry’s hands moved down to Louis waistband, slowly pulling his pants off him, moving backwards to bring them all the way off his legs.

At this vantage point, kneeling on the couch a few feet away from Louis, Harry was struck by him. He was still everything he wanted.

“Harry,” Louis blushed beneath him, attempting to hide his fluster with belligerence, “just get on me already.”

Harry took off his own pants clumsily and was on top of Louis again in no time. Harry pushed his hips gently down and against Louis’s, Louis’s hips bucking to meet him, the friction intensifying.

Louis’s hand moved between the two, palming Harry’s member from over his boxers. The feeling made Harry break the kiss, dropping his head by Louis’s shoulder, his breath catching.

“Fuck,” he whispered, and Louis pulled down his boxers all the way and switched positions with Harry. He positioned himself on Harry’s lap and kissed him, beginning to grind slowly on Harry’s crotch. Harry could feel Louis’s getting harder through his boxers and moved to take them off as quickly as possible.

Getting Louis’s boxers off, however, was a bit more complicated, and required a brief intermission from those activities that were making them both feel so great—Louis stood in front of the couch while him and Harry both tried to rip off his boxers. Once they were off, Louis was again on Harry’s lap, the two smiling through the kisses.

“Do you need me to stretch—”

“No, do you have lube?” Louis interrupted him, feeling like he might go crazy from the building pressure.

“Yeah, there’s some in that table, right?”

Louis was off him, looking hurriedly through a drawer of their coffee table. No lube.

“There’s none in here,” he sighed. “Why isn’t there any in here?”

“Shit, I must have moved it to our room,” Harry said. He was so hard it hurt, and Louis scurrying around naked, looking for lube, made it no better.

“Let’s just go to the bedroom,” Louis said, “come on.”

Cupping their junk, the two made their way to their bedroom. Once there, Harry sat down at the head of the bed after taking lube from their bedside table and welcoming the feeling of Louis’s thighs around his hips again.

Louis watched him as he slicked himself up with lube and then steadied himself above Harry. Louis sank down around him, and the feeling tightened Harry’s stomach intolerably. He wanted nothing more than Louis to move—quickly, maybe a little roughly.

“Actually,” Louis whispered, freezing in place, “I don’t want to ride you.”

Harry looked at him confusingly, “I’m balls deep, Louis.”

Louis raised his eyebrows, “I want you to put me on my back and fuck me like a real man.”

Harry, unabashedly turned on, rolled his eyes, “Fuck you like a real man, ok.”

In a swift motion, Louis was beneath him on the bed, his ankles wrapped around Harry’s back, and Harry began thrusting slowly, but Louis was edging him on with, “Can’t you fuck me harder?”

Louis was acting like Harry wasn’t being rough enough, but once Harry started hitting his prostate on every odd thrust, Louis’s tune changed. The small moans he made every time were enough to drive Harry crazy, crazy enough to go faster and faster until—  
Harry splashed his face with cold water, looking at himself in the mirror. He went to take a piss and ended up lost in the memory of being with Louis. It happened kind of frequently. He looked at himself in the mirror—his hair was dirty, the bags under his eyes were dark, he hadn’t washed his face in twenty-four hours. Pathetic.

He joined Lily in the kitchen, where they had begun to make dinner. Lily was boiling a pot of water, leaning against the counter and looking at her phone.

“Oh, hey,” she said, glancing up at Harry quickly. 

“Want to open a bottle of scotch?” Harry asked, walking past her towards the liquor closet.

“Up to you,” she answered passively. 

Harry went to the cabinet and opened it, revealing three rows of dark liquor, and pulled a bottle at whim. “This’ll do.” He returned to where Lily was, reaching over here to get two glasses, and poured them both half a glass.

The clinked their glasses quietly, and both took a sip. Harry’s was much deeper than Lily’s.

“So, I have to say, I’m captivated,” Lily admits. “What happens next?”

Harry thinks for a moment and then continues, “Well, Zayn left. We had all known for a little while. Louis was pissed, but he ultimately understood it. He was proud of Zayn with his solo stuff—called him once and they talked for a bit. I don’t know what terms they’re on now, but, at first, it didn’t really seem like it would be too big of a deal at the time. 

“So we wrapped up the tour and starting writing Made In the AM, which I think is my favorite album, and me and Louis got pretty serious. We sold our old condo in London and bought a house a few miles north, and then sold our house here and bought a new one. We actually lived like, two miles from here.”

“Really?” Lily asked. “Do you pass it when you drive home?”

Harry shook his head, “No, thankfully.”

“But things were good for a while?” Lily asked.

“Oh, they were great,” Harry smiled. “It was all very domestic. Louis and Eleanor split for a while. The thing I remember most from that year was being in bed—like sleeping. We did so much sleeping. When we got our new house Louis bought us this mattress that he did so much research on, said he felt like he hadn’t really slept since we went on our first tour and wanted to get sleep between the tours.

“This bed, Lily,” Harry laughed, “was spectacular. King sized, custom made, when he got it delivered to the house, I thought it was ridiculous.”

Harry remembers coming down from the upstairs bonus room he turned into a writing room when he heard a truck pull in and found Louis in front of the house talking with two guys in front of a truck.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked, walking towards the three.

“Oh, um, Harry, this is Kevin and Joe, they’re delivering the bed,” Louis smiled, introducing Harry to the two men. “This is my boyfriend Harry.”

Harry shook their hands. “Nice to meet you. This bed has been the cause of many sleepless nights of research for this one,” he joked, making the men smile.

“Well, hopefully after this everyone will be sleeping right through the night,” one of the guys said.

“Can I get you guys anything? A drink, we have water, tea, maybe iced coffee?” Harry offers.

“No thank you,” one says, “thanks, though.”

“You?” Harry looks at the other, eyebrows raised.

“Real nice, but I’m good,” he says raising his hands.

“No problem,” Harry turned to Louis, “I’m going to take a walk.”

Harry was undoubtedly an introvert—he became reenergized when he spent time alone. But he also became reenergized when he spent time alone with Louis. So if there was a situation in which he could excuse himself in an appropriate manner to be alone, he would.

He exited out the back door of their house onto the sprawling patio and began a walk down towards their pool. He waited to go back in until he heard the truck leave their driveway. As he hiked back up to the house, he found Louis waiting for him on the patio.

“Bed’s all set up,” he says, smiling down at Harry.

“It’s gonna be really sad when I can’t tell the difference between this one and our old one,” Harry told him, meeting him on the patio.

“You’ll be able to tell the difference,” Louis assured him. “This bed is going to change our lives.”

Harry, stopping in front of him, said, “Not too much, though, right?”

Louis rolled his eyes but smiled, “Not too much.”

Harry looked down at Louis, everything he was filling him up in a way. He was wearing gym shorts and a t-shirt, his signature ‘no one is really going to see me today’ look, and had just gotten a haircut, so his fringe wasn’t quite long enough to push to the side. 

“Wanna swim?” Harry asked. “Beautiful afternoon.”

Louis nodded, “Ok, lets swim.” Louis turned around to go back into the house to change, but Harry stopped him.

“Where are you going?” he asked,

“To get swim trunks on,” Louis said, as if it was obvious.

“Oh come on, just swim in your boxers,” Harry protested.

“I have swim trunks like eight steps inside that door,” Louis rebutted.

“You have boxers right now,” Harry challenged.

“It will take on second,” Louis pushed on.

“Don’t get rich and boring, please,” Harry pleaded, knowing it would push Louis’s buttons.

“Excuse me?” 

“Come on, swim in your boxers.”

“Don’t accuse me of being rich and boring.”

“I warned you against becoming rich and boring.”

“I’m not even close to becoming rich and boring.”

“You ordered a custom-made mattress for us and got it delivered to our house,” Harry said.

Louis thought ‘touché,’ but said, “This is what I get for going out of my way for us.”

Harry laughed, and Louis followed in suit. Harry looked at Louis, “Get in the pool.”

“No,” he said, “I’m not getting in the pool unless I have swim trunks on.”

“I will pick you up,” Harry threatened.

“Don’t you dare,” Louis looked at him seriously.

Harry approached Louis, hands out as if he was approaching a feral cat.

“I swear to God, Harry,” Louis said, much more serious. “Touch me and I’ll kill you.”

“You weren’t saying that last night,” Harry smiled, knowing how much it would piss off Louis.

“You weren’t trying to throw me in a pool last night,” Louis took a step back as Harry approached him.

“Throw sounds so violent, let’s just call it a toss,” Harry said.

“Absolutely not,” Louis said, opening the patio door and retreating into the house.

“What if I told you this was a fantasy of mine?” Harry suggested, following Louis.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Harry?” Louis laughed, looking at his boyfriend. He was wearing shorts and a button up floral shirt, his face was unwashed and his hair was unruly, but the sun was framing him in their doorway, in all of his persistent qualities, and Louis loved him.

But he called BS on this fantasy.

“Louis, I’ll go down on you so hard tonight, just please let me throw you into the pool,” Harry said, both begging and laughing. 

By then, the two couldn’t get through a word without laughing.

“You were going down on me tonight, regardless,” Louis reminded him. “Touch me and I’ll kill you.”

“I would like to see you try and kill me,” Harry said, advancing towards his boyfriend again.

“I would like to see you try and throw me in the pool,” Louis retorted.

In one quick motion, Harry grabbed Louis in a tight embrace, attempting to haul him over his shoulder. Louis went limp and pushed himself towards the ground, putting up a good fight.

The two were laughing, losing their breath quickly, as they pulled each other to the ground, Louis nearly slithering away from Harry.

Harry looked at Lily, picking up his scotch, remembering how Louis looked as his eye squinted and his cheeks got red and he crawled away from Harry, unable to breath they were laughing so hard.

“But the bed wasn’t ridiculous at all,” he tells Lily. “I have never slept better in my life.”

“He took it?” Lily asked, “when you guys broke up?”

“No, I think we ended up selling it with the house,” Harry told her. “I miss that bed."

Lily smiled at him, seeing the look in his eyes that had only been growing stronger since he started talking. She thought maybe she would call is wistfulness. Maybe even longing. But, somewhere, maybe even if it was very deep, there was still love filling up those eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys. sorry this chapter isn't very plot based but i got in a few cute stories. i really liked writing this chapter!! :)))) thank u sooooo much for reading !!!


	5. What He Did For Me

The table was set, Harry opened a bottle of wine, and the two began a simple spaghetti dinner.

“Once the tour for Made in the AM started, Eleanor and Louis got together again,” Harry continued, takin a sip of wine. “Have you ever seen Brokeback Mountain?”

Harry looked at Lily, and she was surprised by the sudden question.

“The gay cowboy movie?” she asked,

Harry laughed, “Yeah.”

“No,” she shook her head. “Is it good?”

“It’s incredible,” Harry sighed. “You need to watch it. But there’s one scene, where Jake Gyllenhaal’s character says to Heath Ledger’s: ‘well this is a goddamn bitch of an unsatisfactory situation.’ And that’s exactly what ours was. It was a goddamn bitch of an unsatisfactory situation.

“And management would always say that they didn’t care if we were together—secretly and privately—those were their two favorite words, but I know it was deliberate. Nothing drives people more apart than inserting another person into their relationship. Louis had to spend a lot of time with her, and I think what bothered me most, is he didn’t hate it.

“And I had to date a few other girls, but it never felt like we developed a relationship. I mean, Kendall thinks I wrote the fucking album about her,” Harry laughed, and Lily snorted. “Not a single song was written about her. I wouldn’t even say we had a relationship, like a real personal or romantic one. It was like that with me and the girls I saw when me and him were together. And maybe even since.

“But Louis liked Eleanor, not romantically, but he learned how to not dread those outings and time spent eventually, and it was like your boyfriend is going to run an errand, but is instead going to hold hands with another person. It was almost worse than him having sex with someone else.”

“Really?” Lily asked, genuinely surprised.

Harry shrugged, “Well, no. I would have killed myself if he had slept with somebody else.”

“Jeez,” Lily said, laughing a little.

“I would have,” Harry stuck to his guns, “and I think I still would. That would destroy me. Being… intimate, with Louis, was just, like nothing I’ve ever done, or probably will ever do, it was the most unguarded and vulnerable thing I’ve ever done. I always felt like he could see directly through me and in me. The difference between me feeling safe and completely vulnerable would be one look from him.”

Harry remembered those looks, how as time passed, the world saw less and less of them between him and Louis. It’s always what he mourned the most—the loss of the appearance of love. It felt like he was spinning around on a world whose gravity was reliant on only his own knowledge—if he didn’t remind himself him and Louis were together, no one else would.

Sometimes at night he would watch videos of the him and Louis, from before they were told to not look at each other too much during interviews, like ‘Cutest Larry Moments’ or ‘Best Larry Proof,’ even when him and Louis were together, to remind himself other people believed in it to. It was hard to go from Louis lounging to bite his neck to the two sneaking one short, fleeing look and suffering the consequences after.

“Louis took so much in his stride,” Harry shook his head. “It made him mad and upset but he never wanted me to know he was mad or upset, which was so dumb, because I think if he had just expressed that more it would have helped him. He wanted me to see him acting like it was ok, and maybe that would make me be ok. But seeing him not upset about it was so confusing.”

Lily watched as Harry became more flustered and upset, his speech quickening.

“I wanted him to mourn this loss with me. To mourn the life we could have had, but he didn’t, he thought it showed a weakness, and he was always so fucking scared of seeming weak, even in front of me, and I always felt so goddamned weak in front of him, so he just… didn’t,” Harry finished, and took a sip of wine, looking up at the ceiling and then at the table.

Lily looked at Harry, unsure what to say. She didn’t need to know, though, because he continued.

“And so, when him and Eleanor got back together, and he started drinking a lot more, and so did I, he couldn’t admit that it was making him weak. And it was that weakness or our career, and he picked his career by not standing up for himself, or me, or our relationship.”

Harry remembered getting very drunk one night with a few friends in London, and then going home and waiting for Louis to get home. Louis came home, the two did shots, alone, in their kitchen, and got drunk enough to laugh and have sex. Harry remembers being so drunk that he told Louis, “I hope you can still get it up for me after being around so much pussy all day.” He remembers the words like the bitterest taste, and knows that, despite how drunk Louis was, it hurt his feelings. It had to have.

“So, during that tour I started thinking about my solo career. I called around to agents, set up meetings, told Modest I was going to be parting ways,” Harry said, “but I couldn’t get myself to tell Louis. So I just didn’t. We were living in the same house and he knew less about my career than a manager I had only met over Skype.

“Louis found out one night, we both got drunk, which became very normal, and were smoking a joint outside when my manager called me. I didn’t see who it was, so I let him answer, and then I had to tell him. It broke his heart. He hadn’t even started thinking about a solo career. He hadn’t even really decided if he wanted to go on hiatus. So you can imagine what a shock it was that I had virtually decided the hiatus for us and was already pursuing my own career.

“He was pissed, gutted, and it all just made him less motivated. So you can imagine what terrible timing that was for the hiatus,” Harry looked at Lily.

“Yeah, that probably sucked,” Lily said.

“It did. He couldn’t get motivated, got pissed when I offered to get him signed with my new management and agent, and just became really withdrawn. But, I couldn’t stop. I had become addicted to work. It was how I kept myself from constantly worrying about him—I was travelling, out of the house, we were rarely in the same city. But that just made him worse. We couldn’t win,” Harry sighed.

“But the hiatus begins, Louis makes a deal with Simon to stay under him, and Modest or his agent isn’t interested in any of his artistic ideas, which makes him stop writing or even thinking creatively. I think there was jealousy involved—my first album was really coming together and he hadn’t even gotten down a good song. I was always between LA and London, never in one place more than a week at a time. And then, Johannah got her diagnosis.”

Lily watched Harry as his voice broke, just a tiny bit, at his last sentence. His eyes were a bit glassy as he took a deep sip of wine, finishing his glass. He filled up another and took a sip.

Harry laughed, weakly and without humor, “Timing was never our friend. Not once. It was always there to fuck us over. Make bad and good times worse. Each time.”

The two sat in silence as Harry seemed to prepare himself to tell the rest of the story. Lily felt strangely emotional—she knew how this part ended up but felt as though she couldn’t prepare herself appropriately to handle it, or handle Harry telling her it.

“So he went home, and I went with him for a few weeks,” Harry began. “And it was devastating. His mom was dying, it felt like she was wasting away, and he’s drinking all the time before that, and now he’s home and is drinking, he doesn’t want my comfort at all, doesn’t really even want me to touch him.

“But he also depended on me for everything—groceries, new clothes, scheduling stuff with his managers, so it was difficult being his keeper and his enemy. But then… Johannah died.”

Harry paused a minute, his lips contorting and then relaxing, shaking his head. “And it was just watching him fall apart. It was almost impossible to watch. I had to beg him just to shower and eat. He lost ten pounds, he was smoking a pack a day, drinking like no one’s business.

“And instead of being patient I became mad, and started to resent him. So I told him I had to get on with it, and went back to LA.”

Lily and Harry make eye contact. “It’s really fucked, I know,” Harry said. “I know. But I was just beginning to resent him so much. I felt like his babysitter. And I felt like he wasn’t trying to help himself, so I left. We didn’t break up, technically, at least, but I was in LA, he was in Doncaster, and barely ever talked. I would talk to Lottie, to make sure he was ok, but he didn’t really want to talk to me.”

Harry stood up, taking his and Lily’s now clean plates to the sink.

“But he decided to stay in Doncaster, and I decided to stay in LA, and we kind of stopped talking. I don’t know how you can just stop talking to a person you’re in love with, but we did. He was going through a lot, and I got frustrated with him.”

Harry realized that he had just talked about wishing Louis showed more weakness, but, in his ultimate moment of weakness, Harry got frustrated with him.

He remembered calling Louis, who picked up, to his great surprise, after a month of not seeing each other.

“Hello?” Louis said, sounding exhausted.

“Hey,” Harry said quietly. “How are you?”

“Shit,” Louis responded, sighing. “How are you?”

“I miss you,” Harry said. “House is so empty without you.”

“Yeah,” Louis said quietly.

The line was silent, and there was a distant between them that felt so horribly foreign, Harry could barely take it.

“Louis,” he said. “I want you to come home.”

He could imagine Louis nodding, despite not being able to see him.

“I love you,” Harry told him, quietly but confidently.

“I love you too,” Louis said, quietly. “I love you.”

Harry put their plates in the dishwasher, “So I finished the album while he was still in Doncaster, we listened it together over the phone one night. He had heard the very early stages of most of them but imagine hearing a whole album about you for the first time, when you haven’t seen that person in half a year, and you talk once a month.

“We both cried, and he told me he was ready to come home to LA.”

“So he liked the album?” Lily asked.

Harry nodded, “He loved it. But even if he didn’t, I could do no wrong in his eyes. Zero wrong. Especially when it came to my music. Everything I did was right.”

“What was his favorite song?” Lily asked.

Harry smiled, brokenly, “Only Angel, what other would it be?”

Lily laughed, “Did you write him about him?”

Harry nodded, “It was kind of a joke. I was always giving him shit about looking good in a skirt, it drove him crazy.”

The two laughed, Harry remembering writing the song after a really good night, a sober night that included talking a walk and holding each other on the patio. Louis made him laugh so hard, what about he can’t remember. But Only Angel was the result of how much the suggestion of skirt wearing agitated Louis, and it made Harry’s heart hurt.

“Did he come home?” Lily asked.

Harry nodded, “For two months. Moved back in, we lived together during the release of the album until the beginning of the tour.”

“He couldn’t handle you being away?” Lily inquired, standing across the counter as Harry washed their wine glasses.

“Yeah, but it was more complicated,” Harry said. “We loved each other, but we fell out of love. We could only have sex drunk; we could hardly look at each other the mornings after. He resented me because he felt I abandoned him, and I resented him because I felt like he relied on me too much after his mom died.

“What an evil thing to say.” Harry shook his head, turning off the sink.

“Be gentle to yourself,” Lily reminded him. “You were feeling that way for a reason.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t what he needed,” Harry said. “And in moments where I needed him to be a different way from how he felt, like when they first told us we couldn’t be together, that’s what he was. I ultimately couldn’t do for him what he did for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you guys are enjoying!!! new chapters might get sporadic bc i start my next semester soon :) <3


	6. Between Hatred and Devotion

~

8/30/17

It is late August and I am in love.

I’m watching him move from our room to the bathroom from our bed. It’s four pm. What a luxury I can be in bed at this time of day.

What a luxury I can be with him.

We have two windows in our bathroom; they look over the Valley. The sun is pouring in through them and hitting him just right, hitting the room just right. He doesn’t look real.

A lot of times he doesn’t look real. Like he’s one blink from disappearing and I wake up, and none of this has happened. And maybe he’s not home, or maybe I’m not home. And he’s not humming, the noise isn’t kissing the marble and then making its way towards me.

He’s not wearing the shorts he’s had since we met and the shirt I bought him for his birthday. I’m not naked, wrapped up in our sheets, wanting him back on me.

He just said my name.

This is real.

He told me to come take a shower with him. He can never just sleep after sex. All I want to do is sleep after sex. I’m going to take a shower with him. Touch him, to be sure.

He is saying my name again. I need to go.

~

Harry joined Lily on his couch, the fireplace going and the TV playing softly in the background. Lily had to eventually drive home, so she declined another drink, but that didn’t stop Harry from finishing the bottle of wine.

“I got him to see me on tour a few times,” Harry told her, smiling. “Nothing compared to that feeling of him watching me. He saw me four times, and, each time, we were both seeing other people.”

Harry looked at Lily, “I know I’m a bad person. And a disloyal one.”

Lily laughed confusedly, “No you aren’t.”

Harry nodded, laughing a little, but amending his statement, “I make bad decisions. A lot.”

Lily looked at him, “Like what?”

Harry took a deep sip of his wine. The alcohol had a big part to play in how forthright he was becoming. “We fucked all four times. He was with Eleanor, I was with… someone.”

Harry remembered Louis meeting him backstage, staying around in the dressing room as people came in and out, waiting for the show to be actually done, so they could go back to Harry’s hotel.

In London, they went back to Harry’s suite, which looked over the Thames and London Bridge. Harry remembered being up there for the Midnight Memories video, how Louis kept on pretending to fall, enjoying the rise it got out of Harry.

That was the first time they had seen each other since the beginning of the tour, and the new year had just been rang in. The normal gentleness they felt was absent—as soon as they were in the hotel room, Louis was pressed roughly against a wall, Harry was kissing him like he was looking for something.

The sex felt so empty; Louis was on his back, Harry on top of him, and as Harry thrusted into him, rougher than he ever had or would, Louis looked at him and breathlessly said, “I hate you.” When Harry came, into the first condom they had ever used, he felt disgusting.

He disappeared to shower, and when he came out, Louis was waiting by the door. They looked at each other for a moment, before Louis said, “This was a mistake.”

Harry nodded, raising his eyebrows, insinuating, ‘well, that’s obvious.’

Louis looked at him, emotionless, as if the snarky gesture was offensive. “Come on, Harry.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Harry told him.

Louis looked away, shaking his head, “You just fucked me, Harry. And I have a girlfriend.”

“We fucked each other, Louis,” Harry sighed. “There was little one-sided about what we just did.”

Louis was getting angrier. “I don’t know how I did what we just did.”

Harry, who was detaching himself from his emotions, regretting not getting them drunk we he had the chance. “Well, you did it.”

Louis looked at him. He saw the tired, rarely sober remains of someone he once loved. He remembered the light in Harry’s face. He saw it onstage that night, as he sang If I Could Fly, singling out Louis in a room full of thousands of people.

“I shouldn’t have come,” Louis said.

“Yeah, no shit,” Harry pushed. He would never be like that with anyone else. But with Louis, all become fair in love and war. He felt like he could tell him anything, regardless of how biting or pure it was.

When their eyes met next, Harry was taken aback at how broken Louis’s face looked. He had never seen it that empty, that lost.

“What the fuck is the matter with you, Harry?”

Harry didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to say.

“We just finished fucking Harry,” Louis repeated, looking at him, his eyes glassy and his words harsh. “I haven’t seen you in months. I come out here, to see you, and you sing our fucking songs, you sing them to me, the ones you wrote about me, and you have the nerve to pretend like this is all below you?”

Harry still didn’t know what to say. But with Louis, he had to say something. “Fuck you, Louis. You didn’t have to come.”  
Louis laughed, brokenly and humorlessly, “I wanted to, you dick. I wanted to come see you, ever think of that? I wanted to come see you and watch you and then maybe talk after the show, and then I could leave and know that you’re doing ok.

“We don’t talk, how am I supposed to know how the fuck you are, Harry? I think about you every fucking day. I didn’t want to fuck you tonight, I just wanted to know you’re ok. But my self control is shit, and now I know you’re definitely not ok.”

Harry remembered how angry Louis looked, how broken.

“I can’t spend a single happy fucking moment with Eleanor without you sinking into my periphery, you piece of shit,” Louis continued, unhinged. “You sit on the fucking fine line, Harry. I fucking hate you, and I’m serious.”

Harry remembered how serious Louis seemed.

“I am dead serious, I do. Every day. But right next to that feeling, which consumes me just as much as it, I would die for you.” Louis’s voice broke, and he was half an octave from screaming at Harry. “I have always been so devoted to you, I see you and it’s like I forget anything else. It’s fucked Harry, both ways, it’s fucked that I hate you and it’s fucked that I still love you.

“We were drawn a fine fucking line to live on, and I can’t get off it,” Louis finished, looking at Harry like he had just released months of tension, but also like he was searching for an answer. “I don’t know if you can.”

“Him and Eleanor dated for real?” Lily asked, confusion sprawled over her face.

Harry nodded, “Yeah. He told me the first time he watched the show.”

Lily watched Harry take another sip and was shocked he harbored so much pain. She had no idea. She had always thought that him and Louis were together when they were young, naïve, and it fell apart the way those things do—quickly and with very unlasting consequences. But six years? Four different houses together? A whole, established life? She could hardly imagine it. 

She had seen Harry as fiercely independent—never had really close friends, never kept a girlfriend, never even had pets. He genuinely cared about other people, but rarely let them in. It all began to make sense now—he learned how to be codependent when he was sixteen, and with one person, for six years. He didn’t learn how to share his life, he learned how to share his life with Louis. He learned how to depend on Louis, how to live with Louis, how to commit to Louis, how to love Louis. And now he seemed inept at doing any of those things with anyone else.

Right after Louis left, eyes red and completely exhausted, from Harry’s London hotel after his show, Harry sat down and wrote Fine Line. Louis had handed it to him. The first draft was short, and each word was packed with meaning.

His relationship with Louis was the only real one he had before fame, he always felt like he was buying other people’ love. But with Louis, he didn’t have to buy it, and that sincerity, the unabashed genuine nature of it, made him hate Louis. Made him hate him for having such a tight hold over him.

Put a price on emotion  
I'm looking for something to buy  
You've got my devotion  
But man, I can hate you sometimes

But when Louis tried to get emotion out of Harry, he couldn’t get it. Harry didn’t want to fight back, and he didn’t want to suffer the consequences of such conflicts. If the night had gone his way, they would have gotten drunk, and Harry could start to think of the girl he was seeing, and Louis could get to thinking about Eleanor. The alcohol could take them away from the pain of the situation at hand.

I don't want to fight you  
And I don't wanna sleep in the dirt  
We'll get the drinks in  
So I'll get to thinking of her

Louis was lucky Harry hadn’t snapped, yelled at him, thrown something. Louis was always good at pushing Harry just to his breaking point and then retreating, constantly testing his patience. He felt like he would never know why they couldn’t be together, why in the universe they happen to exist in, they couldn’t be together. He would never know. Regardless, he’s his sunshine, his ultimate temptation. And it doesn’t take much of him to get him to give into the temptation.

Test of my patience  
There's things that we'll never know  
You sunshine, you temptress  
My hand's at risk, I fold

Harry had always had a small feeling of fear, even in the best moments of their relationship, that something would happen that would take Louis away from him. Because those things did happen, over and over again. He couldn’t get over it, and Louis never expressed it. And that night, the only way Harry felt like he could get that close to Louis again, was to have sex with him.

Crisp trepidation  
I'll try to shake this soon  
Spreading you open  
Is the only way of knowing you

When Louis explained to him the line between his hatred and his devotion, nothing had ever made more sense to Harry. He understood Louis so completely, because he had also been damned to live on that fine line. Harry wanted to write a sad song. So, he did, a little bit. But even more than that, he couldn’t ignore the feeling that one day him and Louis would be together again. That, because they shared the very cramped space on that fine line, they would be ok. Maybe even alright.

We'll be a fine line  
We’ll be alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really liked this chapter, thank u guys soooooo much for reading. im going to try to answer some comments tonite. xoxoxo


	7. Someone I Don't Want to Be Around

Lily watched as Harry finished the last sip of his glass of wine and then looked at her: “That’s it, I'm done.”

Lily nodded, not believing him. He rarely drank this much in front of her, but even when he was just barely buzzed, ‘that’s it’ rarely meant he was done.

Lily wanted him to finish his story, because she knew he needed to. She hoped that maybe, just maybe, this would give him some sort of closure. It probably wouldn’t, but maybe it would clear the air. Or maybe it would make him do something about it.

“So did you guys sell your house?” 

Harry nodded, “We sold the house in London. That’s the house with the mattress.” He smiled sadly. “He spends most of his time in London now. I think we both still have stuff in the house here, we never really moved out.”

“You didn’t sell the house here in LA?” Lily asked, surprised.

Harry shook his head, “Louis told me he would sell the London one and I could sell the LA one, but I didn’t want to, so I didn’t. He never asked me twice about it.”

“So, you guys are really not together, barely talking,” Lily recapped, “so what next? Anything? Is that the end?”

Harry looked at her, “Well, he wrote Miss You, and then, much later, of course, Don’t Let It Break Your Heart. He never reached out to me to listen to them like I did with my first album, I heard them on my own. I think they’re both about me.”

“He hasn’t told you?” Lily asked.

Harry shook his head, “We don’t really talk. I never had a doubt about Miss You, but for a while, I was unsure about Don’t Let It Break Your Heart. Him and Eleanor had a place in New York, and I know there were genuine feelings there. But then, I remembered the Valentine’s Day trip we took when we were like, 17 and 19.

“We stayed at this beautiful hotel, in this huge suite that looked over the city, and I had left my journal under the bed, and by the time I realized, we were in London and the hotel couldn’t find it, so it was gone. 

“That journal had the beginning of our relationship in it—all my writings from when we met and fell in love and first got together. I was almost horrified that I had lost it at the time, and the loss only feels greater now.

“It kind of feels like it never happened sometimes.”

Lily looked at Harry as he spoke his sadness into space, not looking at her, but looking somewhere deep into the fire.

“So, that’s how I knew,” Harry said. “I left a piece of my heart there, for sure. It felt too specific.”

Harry paused, smiling without humor. “I never called him. I loved every single but could never call him. I would get drunk instead, and then try not to think about him.”

Harry looked away from the fire for the first time in a while, and met Lily’s eyes. “That’s it. That’s the story.”

Lily’s face contorted, confusion sprawled across it, “That’s it?”

Harry nodded.

“You guys haven’t talked since… over a year ago?”

Harry nodded.

“God, Harry, I had no idea,” Lily told him. 

Lily didn’t know where the story was heading, and she didn’t know why she expected closure. Why would there be closure? This was real life. This wasn’t a fairy tale. She felt the most deep-seated sense of disappointment. She couldn’t believe Harry hauled around this shit, all the time. She couldn’t believe he had been so in love, and then not.

Harry shrugged, smiling, “It’s ok. How would you have an idea?”

“Do you want to talk to him again?” Lily asked.

Harry shrugged again, “I don’t know.”

Lily kept her eyes on him, wanting an answer, “How often do you think about him?”

“A lot.”

“How much.”

“Every day. Most hours.”

The way he said it, the matter-of-factness of it, made Lily realize how much of his reality it wasn’t. It wasn’t sad to Harry, it was life. 

The two sat in silence, until Lily said quietly, “Harry, I know you’re my boss, and I don’t want to sound rude.”

Harry laughed and shook his head, “Lily, you’re not sounding rude at all.”

“But you need to talk to Louis,” she stated. “I know that’s really easy for me to say, since I wasn’t the one in love with him, but I don’t think you can live your life like this anymore.”

Harry nodded, his eyes becoming glossy. 

“Just call him. Call him when I leave. It’s still early, it’s only 9. He’s still up.”

“What if he’s in London?” Harry asked, genuinely.

“Then it will go to voicemail,” Lily told him. “He went to voicemail last night. He wants to talk to you.”

Harry nodded, and smiled at his friend. “Thank you for listening.”

Lily, with a light in her eyes, maybe a painful one, said, “Of course.”

“Lily,” he said, quietly, as if it was his epilogue. “Don’t tell anyone, ok?”

The words broke Lily in two, not because she was planning on telling anyone, but because he still couldn’t have full disclosure with it all. How to live like that, she pondered, how to even survive.

Harry walked her out to her car in the cool LA night, giving her a hug and watching her drive out the gate.

His pouring out, his reanimation of this pain, left him feeling more confused, more conflicted, and more drunk than he had been in a long time. 

He wasn’t sure if he was still in love with Louis. He didn’t know if Louis was still in love with him. He thought maybe it was just because he was drunk, or maybe it was because he was lonely. Maybe he didn’t really feel like this.

But beneath every maybe there is a definitely. And it could not be ignored. The definitely was that he needed to call him. Tonight. To not think about it too much, to not become obsessed with the notion of it, but to just do it.

He picked up his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this is soooo short i just wanted to get it out. next chapter coming soon! either two or three more. thank uuuuu for reading !!! xoxo :))))


	8. What If I'm Down and Out

Louis nursed a joint and a cup of scotch, leaning out his music room window, breathing in the new year. As he looked out at the lights in the Valley, the small twinkling and the city behind it, he remembered being 25 again.

Harry was beside him, and it was early December. They were in London. He remembers their best memories being made in London. Being made at home. The TV was playing on mute (Harry fell asleep, but Louis still wanted to watch). Harry was lying on his stomach, head rested on Louis’s shoulder, half of his body draped across Louis, his left leg tangled with Louis’s left leg.

Louis held his man’s head gently, working his hands slowly, comfortably through his hair. They lived in an older complex, going for a historic brick stone, and their bedroom got cold during the winter, so they both slept in long sleeves and pajama pants. Louis always loved it when Harry fell asleep before him in the winter—he radiated heat and always felt so comforting. He looked down at him and felt pure adoration. 

This boy.

The first person he ever fell in love with, the only person he had ever been in love with at 25. So beautiful, so talented. And he wanted Louis. They had made love that morning, Harry waking him up with a soft kiss. Louis opened his eyes slowly, first telling Harry to, “Let me sleep.”

Harry smiled, shifting in bed, almost whispering, “I woke up hard.”

“You wake up hard three times a week,” Louis reminded him, wanting more than anything to fall asleep.

“Louis,” Harry coed, “please.”

There was something about Harry saying please like that, that always made Louis give in. And Harry knew that was how to get exactly what he wanted. 

Louis turned over, facing Harry. “You’re lucky I’m so good to you.”

Harry kissed his man, pulling Louis into him gently. Louis slid his leg gently between Harry’s, providing him with some much-needed friction. Harry broke away for a moment, reaching for the lube from his bedside drawer. In the meantime, Louis turned around, pressing his bum into Harry’s crotch.

Harry exhaled sharply, pulling down Louis’s pajama pants and boxers. After slicking himself up with lube, he wrapped his arm around Louis, pulling him close, and then aligning himself. When he sank in, Louis’s breath hitched, and Harry pressed a soft kiss to his neck.

He moved gently, slow thrusts helping Louis wake up slowly. Harry moved his hand down from Louis’s chest, finding his hardening member. Harry took it out of his boxers, beginning to stroke it slowly. Louis was breathing heavily, quickly, and could think of nothing but Harry.

But that was a long time ago. They haven’t spoken in months. Louis remembers the last time they saw each other, Harry’s show in London a year before. Louis remembers how biting he had been, Harry’s face when he told him he hated him. He had been happy with Eleanor—he had. He had come to have real feelings for her.

But he couldn’t quit Harry. Something about him, so comfortable but so thrilling, left Louis feeling empty when he got drunk or high, left him feeling alone in the bed he shared with her. He wished he could quit him.

Louis walked inside his room and sat down at his computer, and, maybe it was the alcohol or the weed, but he pulled up Harry’s album. He hadn’t listened to it, never heard it. He didn’t even know Harry had an album in the works. He felt further away from him than he ever had. 

Like everything Harry did, Louis loved it. The upbeat-ness of the first few tracks surprised him—he wondered if Harry’s year had been as shit as his. He feared, dreaded, that maybe Harry wasn’t as hurt, that Louis didn’t mean that much to him as Harry meant to Louis.

He took a deep sip as Cherry began, the feeling of regret and sadness filling it more and more by the moment. 

But Cherry ended, and Falling began. Louis listened it to, imagining Harry alone, writing this song. Harry had been the only person Louis wanted to be around for the longest time, and, because people are complicated, and so is life, they just reached a point.

Louis thought it was the point where love can only decrease. He feared they had had their moment, six wonderful years, and that, eventually, you become so uncomfortable with the person you’ve become that you feel as though your own partner doesn’t really know you, because you don’t really know you.

They drank too much. The had sex too much when they were drunk, when they really knew better. They stopped talking, they stopped being honest. They didn’t show up, step up for each other. They stopped being, it felt like sometimes, and couldn’t handle loving each other anymore.

Louis resented fame, he resented loneliness, he resented money, he resented Harry. He resented all the things that have made his life more complicated. He resented that if it came down to Harry and Eleanor, Louis would have to betray his own girlfriend, and pick the person who broke his heart. He resented that he hated Harry. He resented his resentment.

He resented ‘anymore:’ he loved Harry, but not anymore. Him and Harry used to live together, but not anymore. There was nothing more—it was his life and Harry’s life, not their life. The togetherness, the more, was gone.

The end of the album came, and Fine Line began. As soon as the first chorus came, Louis was taken back to the last time he saw Harry.

“You sit on the fucking fine line, Harry.”

He imagined all of them in the end, all of their brokenness. To Louis, it was over. It was horribly painful, but it felt done, finished.

“But we’ll be alright.” That was Harry’s response to Louis’s accusation. Even though Louis remembered all too well Harry’s aloof manner as Louis let loose on him, Harry agreed with him. As the song picked up, Louis got tears in his eyes.

“Fuck,” he whispered, wiping his cheeks.

After a long silence at the end of the song, holding his head in his hands, elbows resting on the desk, he reached for his phone. Just like the sudden impulse to listen to the album, he dialed Harry’s number, which he remembered effortlessly.

When he heard the message to leave a message, he was relieved. He didn’t have to talk to Harry, not tonight. But before he knew it, he was leaving a voicemail. 

“…hey, Harry. It’s Louis…… um, yeah. Listened to the album tonight. It’s real good mate. Um, yeah, just real, impressed. I was kinda putting it off, ya’know, didn’t know if I wanted to listen to it. Saw you went on James and, uh, Saturday Night Live. Couldn’t watch you, have a hard time watching you on these things……. Anyway, mate, just thought I would drop a line. Don’t need to call me back. Alright.”

He put the phone down, finished the scotch, a got in bed with his girlfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys, i'm so sorry the chapters are so sort. i hope you enjoy thissss :)) xx


	9. We'll Be Alright

“Hello?”

It hit Harry like a brick wall. His voice. For what like the first time in several eternities. His voice.

“Hey,” Harry breathed. 

“Harry?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

The line is silent, Harry still living in that moment when he heard his voice again. Inside of him, things were both knocked over and put together, he felt like he was both falling apart and that things were falling together.

“Hey.” Louis sounded strained, almost hesitant.

“Um, I just wanted to return your call,” Harry said, surprised he was becoming so reserved, so unbothered.

“Yeah,” Louis laughed weakly. “I told you not to call back.”

“I thought I should,” Harry said. “I just wanted to let you know I heard it.”

He could imagine Louis nodding, pinching the bridge of his nose. He imagined his contorted face. He imagined his keeping in of all the pain he was feeling.

“Yeah,” Louis said, “well, I meant what I said about the album.”

“Thank you,” Harry said genuinely, in disbelief he still couldn’t be open with Louis.

After another bout of silence, Louis said, “I think my favorite song was Fine Line.”

Harry’s chest tightened, and was warmed for a moment, but it cooled once he answered, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis answered quietly. After more silence, Louis continued, voice quiet and tense. “I’m really sorry about what I said, Harry.”

Harry exhaled slowly, his chest rising and falling more quickly.  
“It’s okay,” Harry said. “I understand.”

“No, it’s not,” Louis told him. “I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

Harry nodded but was silent, and suddenly wondered if calling him was a mistake.

“I’m sorry, it’s late. Are you in LA or at home?” Harry asked him, trying to distance himself, for some forsaken reason, every time he became vulnerable.

“I’m in LA,” Louis said. “Stayed here for the New Year.”

Harry’s stomach dropped. Louis was in LA. He could be mere blocks from here, up just when he was up, and decided to pick up the phone.

He was talking to Louis. Louis.

After another rigid silence, Harry said, “I’m in LA too. I'm pretty much here all the time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Harry milled over everything he could think to say, face serious and focused on the issue at hand.

“What are you doing right now?”

The question caught Harry off guard—he was asking it, they were his words, yet, he did not expect himself to be able to say it. It felt too open. Too clear of a message.

“Um, I’m just at home,” Louis answered. “What are you doing right now?”

“I’m at home, too,” Harry told him, feeling as those he was on the cusp of something.

After another silence, Harry asked, “Louis, can I pick you up?”

He heard nothing, was afraid that he came on too strong. That Louis just isn’t interested anymore. That maybe he never agonized over this, that every day he wasn’t plagued by it. That maybe it didn’t creep in the shadows of everywhere he went.

“Yeah, you can,” Louis responded, and Harry smiled. He smiled, for the first time since Louis picked up the phone, after a day that felt like it gave him no reason to smile.

“Will you text me your address?” Harry asked, feeling a sudden urgency.

“Yeah,” Louis said, “yeah, I’ll do it as soon as I hang up.”

“Okay,” Harry said.

“I’ll see you soon,” Louis told him, and hung up.

See you soon, Harry thought. See you soon. He hadn’t seen Louis in a year. But he was seeing him tonight. Harry got up and changed from his current ensemble, washed his face, and brushed his teeth. He got in his car and drove to Louis’s house--he lived ten minutes away. Harry had been just ten minutes away, they were breathing the same air.

Louis lived in a white house down an embankment, had a beautiful garden, and had a beautiful view of the city. It was nothing like any house they had owned together—it had modern outdoor furniture, a sleek, clean look. Their places were always cozy, snug fits for their stuff, and old. Was it just another thing Louis gave Harry? Not his style, but Harry’s, and Louis gave it precedent?

Harry’s heart was pounding as he walked to the door and texted Louis he was there.

In thirty seconds Louis was out. There he was. He looked beautiful—a little tired, for sure, but his face was bright, his hair was freshly cut, he wore a sweatshirt Harry didn’t recognized. He looked soft, full, happy. Harry was relieved. He was there, Louis was with him. To be so in love and then be so out of it, Harry thought, what a loss.

Louis smiled weakly, and Harry mimicked him, not being able to take his eyes away. Before he could stop himself, he reached out to Louis, wrapping his arms around him like he used to.

For a horrifying moment, Louis was rigid, his shoulders tense. But then he relaxed, and Harry felt his hands holding clumps of his jacket, gripping him. He was real again to Harry. He became demystified, the fog was clearing. He was no longer a memory; he was real and tangible.

“Hey,” Harry whispered.  
“Hey,” Louis responded, just as quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all are getting two chapters in one night-- on a kick and can't stop, so i finished it! thank you for reading!! i know this ending will kill you but i feel it's the best way to end-- with some ambiguity. i appreciate you all reading!! it's be fun :)))) xoxo


	10. The Emotional Center

With both the windows down, Louis sat rigidly in the passenger seat of Harry’s car, feeling both safe and incredibly uncomfortable. 

Did he even still know Harry? Who was Harry now? Louis wasn’t sure, but he, despite everything, still trusted enough in Harry to be with him alone in the uncomfortableness. When Louis thought about it, broadly, as he rarely did, it was extraordinary that trust remained. 

“When you’d get this?” Louis asked him, running his fingers along the upholstering of the center console.

“Brand new,” Harry replied, “got it for myself for my birthday.”

“Didn’t know you were a car guy,” Louis said, almost teasingly.

“I’m not,” Harry replied, almost seriously.

How strange, Louis thought. Small talk with Harry.

“Where are we going?” Louis asked, unable to discern their direction in the darkness.

Harry glanced at him, and then back at the road, “I was going to head towards the old house.”

“You sold the old house,” Louis said, looking at Harry.

“No, I didn’t,” Harry said.

“What?” Louis asked. Louis had thought Harry had sold the LA house; that was the agreement: Louis sells the London house, Harry sells the LA one.

“Yeah, I just couldn’t bring myself to sell it,” Harry admitted.

Louis looked at Harry, and then out his window. Couldn’t bring himself to sell it. Louis had managed to convince himself that Harry had burned every picture they had taken together, that Harry had been fine. Louis didn’t know why he was a glutton for that pain—but somehow coping was easier when he imagined a universe where in the aftermath Harry wasn’t in as much pain as he was.

Pretty soon, he recognized his surroundings, even in the dark. It was his house. His old house. Harry’s taste, mainly. A sprawling 70s-style, the landscaping sorely neglected, but their old passcode—0928—still opening the front gate.

“Wow,” Louis said, “this is strange.”

As Harry parked in front of the completely dark house, Louis continued, “Have you been here since we moved out?”

Harry shook his head, “Not really. Came once because I left some weed in your music desk.”

Louis laughed, the lines appearing on the outer edges of his eyes, and Harry caught a glimpse of it, even in the dark. Louis could imagine Harry trying to remember where they hid their stash and knew right away when he heard ‘music dresser’ that Louis had definitely helped him hide it. That was Louis’ spot. He liked the thought of them scheming on where to hide their weed, but hated the thought of Harry coming back, alone, to their empty house, to find it.

They climbed out of the car and into the cool night air.

“I hope you have a key, because I definitely don’t,” Louis told Harry, pushing his hair out of his face and following Harry towards the door.

“I do,” Harry said, and found a silver key with red nail polish on the top that Louis recognized. He had had one just like it.

Once the gate was closed behind them and they were in the front door, Louis breathed deeply. 

It was as if he was 24 again. Suddenly, Harry disappeared, and then reappeared, standing at the entrance to the front hallway, three years younger. Only in boxers, his hair longer, curlier.

Louis remembered it like yesterday. He had been with a friend who was in town for a few days, and when he arrived home, at almost 2 am, he fully expected Harry to be asleep. He was even looking forward to climbing into bed with Harry, and then sleeping until he couldn’t anymore.

But Harry had forgotten to leave a light on, and Louis had dropped his keys on the front step, and when he went to pick them up, he accidentally pressed the panic button on his car keys. By the time he turned off the alarm and got into the house, Harry was standing, jolted awake by the sound, in his boxers, saying, “Couldn’t be any quieter?”

“I’m sorry,” Louis whispered, closing the door behind him. “Go back to bed, I’ll be in in a second.”

Harry shook his head sleepily, making Louis’s heart weep softly, and walked towards his boyfriend. He took Louis’ head gently and kissed the side of it, “Have a good time?”

Louis nodded, walking towards the kitchen to put away his leftovers from dinner. “We had a good time. You have a good night?”

Harry nodded, watching Louis, “Went to bed at like 9.”

“Shit,” Louis said, surprised, “why were you so tired?”

“I watched one episode of Breaking Bad and then fell asleep on the couch,” Harry told him simply. Louis had begun to put away the dishes Harry had left out to dry from his solo dinner.

Louis furrowed his eyebrows, “Breaking Bad put you to sleep?”

“Yeah,” Harry told Louis, voice raspy.

Louis smiled, mostly to himself, as Harry seemed to nearly fall asleep on his feet.

Louis, pleased with the state of the kitchen, turned to Harry, “Alright, let’s go.”

Harry began shuffling back to bed, Louis close behind him.

Before Louis could remember how it felt to curl up next to him, only to push him away in his sleep later in the night, he was back to reality. To Harry standing in the middle of their living room, trying to get a lamp to turn on. Once it did, the hauntingly familiar white walls, made yellow by the light, and dark hardwoods, their wall art, little knick-knacks left behind, surrounded him. Louis’s-once-favorite couch, the rug Harry bought online that ended up being much bigger than he thought, the vase Louis’s mom had gifted them when they bought the place—all there.

All of the things Louis hadn’t thought about in years, since the last time he was in the house, were suddenly all too real to him. They were suddenly in his life again, and he was overwhelmed by the strangeness of it.

“Wow,” Louis said, looking around.

“Yeah,” Harry said, as if his words were Louis’s afterthought.

It became apparent, in that moment, to both of them, they had no clear idea what it was they were there to do. Talk? Fight? Kiss? Sit awkwardly? Stand awkwardly? Get drunk?

Louis could tell Harry was a bit buzzed—he seemed how he would be at the end of a day of day-drinking—the alcohol moving out of his system, still a bit tipsy, but coming back down, so his preconceived notion that Harry was still a drinker was confirmed.

But so was he.

But then Louis remembered the bed. That bed. Tireless research to find that bed. Harry always had trouble sleeping in beds Louis slept like a baby in, and Louis always had trouble sleeping in beds Harry slept like a baby in. They had found the perfect bed for their house in London, one from Harry’s mom’s house, but they couldn’t find another mattress like it.

Louis remembered their first night on the new bed, how he had fallen asleep almost immediately after Harry turned out the light, and how Harry looked as he fell asleep. Perfect, beautiful.

“Is our bed still up there?” Louis asked, looking to Harry who was studying a framed picture on the mantle above the fireplace.

“As far as I know,” Harry replied, turning to look at Louis.

“Wanna go check?” Louis asked, motioning upstairs.

Harry smiled a small smile and nodded, following Louis upstairs.

Louis remembers each creak of the hardwood stairs, the way they felt under bare feet. Socked feet. Shoed feet. Any kind of feet. At the top of the stairs is a long, wide hallway, that is end-marked by the master.

He hadn’t felt like this in a long time. He hadn’t felt like a person who had loved Harry in a long time. But this house was practically an extension of them, even the dust that lay heavy on it. The darkness of the hallway extended for a long while, until Louis felt Harry close behind him, and then the lights flickered on.

Louis began down the hallway, feeling Harry close behind him. At the end of the hallway of closed doors, he reached out and slowly opened the master bedroom door.

He had almost forgotten what it looked like: a nearly sprawling room with a wall of only glass windows and a door, overlooking the Valley. Their king-sized bed was against the wall facing the windows, and Harry’s dresser was still in the corner next to a full-length mirror. Their TV was still mounted, definitely covered in dust, and it smelled like their home.

The room was the emotional center of the house and being in it felt like a tearing apart to Louis. He could feel almost every emotion he had felt there seeping up through the floor, becoming part of him. 

Shit. Fuck. 

Instead of facing Harry, he made his way towards the glass door, unlocking it and opening it. He stepped onto the patio, remembering many nights him and Harry spent out there.

He couldn’t help remembering one of their last nights there, both sickeningly drunk, fighting. About what, he couldn’t remember. Probably the same old shit. Careers. Girlfriends. Time spent with who and where.

Louis came to regret it all deeply, standing there. He had the overwhelming feeling that maybe none of those things had actually mattered, and because of his mistake of placing importance on them, he lost Harry. The best person he ever knew.

He finally turned around to watch Harry step out of their room, following him dutifully. He watched him as tears filled his eyes, but not overflowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys. quarantine did it to me. it haunted me into giving you more answers and a more conclusive ending. ahh!! i hope you guys who read from the start see a new chapter was added!! i don't know how many more i'll write, but i am surely committed to giving y'all a more satisfying ending. larry 4ever y'all <3


	11. Beachwood Cafe

Harry met his gaze, smiling markedly unhappily.

“We fucked up,” Louis said quietly, still managing to look at Harry.

Harry nodded, “Yeah, I think we did.”

“Will we just keep fucking up?” Louis asked him, not anticipating how worry-ridden he would sound.

Harry shrugged, “I don’t know mate.”

Louis nodded, and then turned away from Harry, not liking how it still felt Harry could see right through him.

He remembered coming home for the first time after his mom died, and how Harry would sit out here with him when he would wake up and want a cigarette. Refusing himself sleep, he would wrap an arm loosely around Louis’s shoulders as the went outside, and would sit in two patio chairs at the edge of their patio. Sometimes Louis would want Harry to touch him—hand on his knee, holding gently the back of his neck, thumbing at his ear. Other times he would just want to sit there in silence. Harry could almost always tell.

Harry was good to him. He remembers the mistakes he made, but the good things he did, the goodness of who he was, seemed a lot more pressing. Louis began to cry, thinking about how their relationship changed after his mom died, how he treated Harry, how much Harry tried to do for him.

He wasn’t crying for long when Harry approached him, a hand placed on the back of his shoulder, and then holding his shoulder, firmly and comfortingly.

“You ok?”

Louis couldn’t look at him, so he didn’t. He just nodded and wiped his cheeks with the ends of his shirtsleeves.

“Hey,” he heard Harry say, quietly, strained. Louis looked at him. Tears pooled in his eyes. He nodded at Louis, “I know how you feel.”

Louis nodded, looking at Harry. At his hair and eyebrows and scruff and lips. Every emotion in one in that boy. He gently put his hand over Harry’s, the touch of it both saddening and exhilarating. The stood there for a while, in silence.

“Hey,” Harry said softly, “I think I’m going to spend the night here. I want you to, but I can drive you home if you don’t want to.”

Louis nodded, “I’ll stay here.”

Harry watched him, and after a moment’s hesitation, “Does Eleanor know you left?”

Louis pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded, “Yeah.”

Harry gently squeezed his shoulder and then brought his hand away. “I’m going to go to bed. I’m exhausted. I’ll sleep in a spare room.”

“Are you sure?” Louis asked. “I don’t mind.”

“No,” Harry smiled sweetly, “you deserve your mattress. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Louis watched him go back inside, disappearing from view. He went back in soon after him, keeping the bedroom door cracked and turning on the bathroom light. He looked at the bed from the bathroom and remembered how many times he had watched Harry from that vantage point. 

Harry usually wanted to sleep after they had sex. Louis usually wanted to take a walk, or shower. It depended on the day and the circumstances, but that was the overarching rule.

He could remember how Harry’s bare ass would look, or his long legs. He smiled to himself, but only briefly. This wasn’t what he wanted to think of. He wanted to go to sleep. But he couldn’t stop his train of thought.

He remembered a particularly beautiful afternoon they both happened to be home and had the luxury of staying in bed.

Harry had woken up first, and upon finding Louis hard, had begun to make good work of him. It started off the day on a good note, and Louis was so flattered by the gracious favor, he went down on Harry a bit later, and still remembered what Harry said after he came.

“That’s the best blowjob I’ve ever received from anyone,” smiling criminally widely.

“You’ve only ever gotten blowjobs from me,” Louis rolled his eyes, sitting on the edge of the bed and stretching.

“Yeah, and that’s the best one,” Harry said, sticking to his guns.

Louis stood up, laughing and shaking his head, “You wanna shower?”

Harry looked up at him, pulling the duvet up to his shoulders, “Just lay with me.”

Back in the moment, torn away from his past, Louis looked at himself in the mirror. Tired, lonely. If he could have gone back to that moment now, he just would have laid with Harry. It seemed so simple now.

Louis found an old toothbrush, didn’t really matter if it was his or Harry’s, brushed his teeth, and took off everything but his boxers. When he sat pulled down the covers on the bed and sat down, he was reminded of how much he loved that bed. After they got it, they even agreed it was better than the bed from their house in London.

Louis was asleep in moments, heavy with the day’s developments.

He woke up to the sun rising and resented how early it was. He had forgotten to draw the curtains last night, but figured he would take the early wakeup call as an opportunity to call Eleanor. He needed to.

He got out of bed, grabbed his phone from the back pocket of the pants he left on the floor, and made his way out to the patio. It was a beautiful, warm day, especially for January.

After a few rings, he heard her voice, “Hey.”

“Hey,” he answered, “did I wake you?”

“No, no,” Eleanor answered, “I’ve been up for a little while. I’m going to meet some friends for lunch. Where are you?”

“I ended up staying the night at me and Harry’s old place,” Louis answered, “it’s where we went last night.”

“How’s he doing?” she asked, her voice sounding genuine.

“About as good as me,” he answered. “Eleanor.”

“Yeah?” 

She spoke in a way that made Louis feel like she had known what was coming the moment he went into their bedroom to say Harry was on his way over the night before. Louis had felt like she had been waiting, not excitedly by any means, for this moment to come. This was the basis of their relationship anyway: without Harry, they would have never met. It was a fluke, or maybe destiny, depending on how you look at it. Eleanor always had an understanding of their relationship, and despite knowing Louis loved her, was haunted by the fact that he would always choose Harry, if he could.

“Are you ok?” Louis asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you ok with me being here?”

“Well,” she started, “I’m not overjoyed. But, I trust you.”

The words ripped through Louis. She shouldn’t trust him. He didn’t think she should.

“Eleanor,” he said, “you know how it is with Harry.”

“I know,” she said.

Louis shook his head, frustrated, knowing it was unreasonable to expect Eleanor’s permission to explore his feelings for Harry. He still did though.

“Hey,” Louis said, dropping his voice, “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“I know,” Eleanor said. “You figure this out. I’ll be around.”

“Ok.”

“Bye, Louis,” she said, and then hung up.

Louis looked at the view, and had a the briefest, most fleeting feeling of hopefulness. 

As that feeling disintegrated, he went back inside. He brushed his teeth and then made his way to the hallway, heading towards the closest spare room. He gently pushed open the cracked door, and found Harry, still fast asleep. Tummy down, shirtless, mouth open.

Just like he remembered.

Louis left the spare bedroom and went downstairs, and his old home in the daytime stunned him. It looked so empty and he could almost feel the memories hanging in the air.

He went to the couch and sat down, and decided to order them some breakfast from a little close-by coffee shop they used to go frequently when they lived here. Harry’s order: medium iced Americana, everything bagel, cream cheese on the side. Louis’s: an almond milk latte and chef’s choice of a pastry.

He was half hoping that would somehow impress Harry.

The delivery man rang the doorbell, moving Louis from where he was on the couch, and he answered the door.

“Get through the gate alright?” he asked, having had some issues buzzing people in the past.

“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded, handing him a large bag. “Everything’s in there.”

“Great,” Louis dug around in his pocket, searching for the twenty-dollar bill he had placed in there for this occasion. He handed it to the delivery man, and then took the bag. “Thanks, mate.”

The delivery man smiled and nodded and went on his way, and when Louis turned around and closed the door, Harry was halfway up the stairs, just in red boxers, wiping sleep from his eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Louis said, looking up at him.

Harry shook his head, smiling, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Got us breakfast from Beachwood,” Louis said, holding up the bag.

“Everything bagel?” Harry asked, coming the rest of the way down the stairs.

“With cream cheese,” Louis finished, putting the bag on their countertop and beginning to empty it. “And an iced Americana.”

He handed the coffee to Harry, who smiled at him, and watched him as he unloaded the rest of the bag. Louis glanced at him again, wanting to see his body just in boxers.

When he did, he caught Harry already looking at him. Harry smiled at him when their eyes met, and Louis looked away, feeling a burning in his chest. Flirting with Harry again. What a strange thing.

Harry took his coffee and bagel and sat on a stool at the counter, “How’d you sleep?”

“Like a fuckin’ baby,” Louis laughed, opening his surprise pastry standing on the other side of the counter Harry was sitting.

Harry laughed, “So the mattress still got it?”

“Still got it,” Louis smiled, “what about you?”

“Pretty good, but doesn’t have anything on our old bed,” Harry said, taking a sip.

“No bed does,” Louis said. Him and Harry smiled at each other, and he felt a lot of the tension that was present the night before lifted. “I called Eleanor this morning.”

“Yeah?” Harry said, watching Louis.

“Yeah,” Louis nodded. “Told her what was going on.”

“What she say?” Harry asked.

“That she trusts me,” Louis said.

The two looked at each other for a long moment, and then back to their coffees.

Once breakfast was finished, Louis began searching for a garbage bag so they could have bin in the house, and then joined Harry on the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thnx for reading ily guys <3 xoxo


	12. Someone I Can't Live Without

“You seeing anybody recently?” Louis asked, looking at his latte on the coffee table.

Harry shook his head, “No, not since September.”

Louis nodded, “You get lonely?”

Harry looked at him, “I’m always lonely.”

Louis glanced at him, “Me too.”

“Even with Eleanor?”

Louis nodded, “Yeah. I think the loneliness might just be a symptom of the amount of fame we had.”

Harry looked at him, “I never felt lonely with you.”

Louis looked back at Harry, sitting on the other side of the couch, “You didn’t?”

Harry shook his head, “I felt like you got it.”

Louis nodded, “I did. I do.”

Louis wanted to tell Harry that he was always an antidote to his loneliness, even at its most overwhelming, but he couldn’t. It felt too forced. He had confidence Harry knew how Louis felt, even if that confidence was shaky.

“Are you excited to start touring again?” Harry asked Louis, watching his back as he leaned over his knees, looking straight ahead.

Louis nodded, “I miss touring, I’m excited. It’s gonna be so different, though.”

“Being up there alone?”

“Yeah. So different. I’m nervous.”

“You’ll be great,” Harry told him, “don’t be nervous.”

Louis wanted to tell Harry everything he felt, from his sadness over how he treated him after losing his mom to watching him sleep this morning. That maybe he still had feelings for Harry, and maybe if he got drunk or high enough, he wouldn’t be able to control himself. Louis hoped Harry would also express the same sentiment, but he couldn’t be sure. So he couldn’t say anything, not yet.

After a long silence, Harry said, “Louis, I don’t really know what you want our relationship to be after this, and whatever you want is fine, but I just have to tell you that I am really sorry. About everything that happened. I regret a lot of things, and most of them are the way our relationship ended. I look back, and I can’t believe that the time I had with you I spent like that. Drinking and fighting. I really regret it.”

As he spoke, Louis felt his throat burn and eyes water, and felt suddenly out of control.

“It was me too, Harry. Mostly me. I think any mistakes we made were not two sided. Sometimes I feel like we kind of make decisions that mimic each other, like—”

“We’re two sides of the same coin?”

“Exactly,” Louis continued, finally looking at Harry, “and a lot of it really haunts me. I want to get us straight, right. I can’t live with my idea of us as it is. It’s really broken in my mind, and I can’t stand it.”

Harry subtly moved towards Louis on the couch, “You want to fix it?”

Louis nodded, “Of course. Do you?”

Harry nodded, as earnestly as he ever had, “Of course. I’ve wanted to fix it since the last time I saw you.”

Louis looked at Harry, feeling red in his cheeks, “That was a mess.”

“Yeah,” Harry smiled, moving one more time closer to Louis, “hot mess.”

Louis remembered following Harry back to his suite in London, with a beautiful view of the Thames, and the way the river looked as he watched Harry put on a condom. The only time he had ever seen it, and what a strange sight it was. That night had managed to be completely loveless, just marred by freakish devotion, and on the other side of that, a rotting resentment. 

He couldn’t believe he had told Harry he hated him. Maybe he did in that moment, but he feels more confident he didn’t. He just felt a bit broken and used, and that Harry, the person who changed his life most, had been lost to him. It was more loss than hatred, if it was hatred at all.

“I never hated you,” Louis said, keeping eye contact with Harry. “I know I said I did, but I didn’t. I was just hurt.”

“There’s a lot to be hurt about,” Harry nodded, again exuding understanding in the way that made Louis soft and malleable, making Harry the dictator of his feelings. He was ok with it.

Louis only then realized how close Harry was to him, only centimeters, just barely not touching.

“How do you wanna do this?” Louis asked him, quietly.

“Do what?” Harry said, his eyes flashing for a moment with surprise. Louis speculated he took it, if only for a moment, as a come on.

“Figure this out,” Louis answered, definitively. 

“I wanna do it now,” Harry told him, “and without drugs or alcohol.”

Louis nodded, “That seems fair.”

Harry stood up, and his sudden absence on the couch was felt by Louis. “I think I’m gonna go shower. I haven’t showered in days, to be honest, and I’m a little hungover.”

Louis smiled up at him, “I think we still have soap in the master bath.” The view from where Louis sat was nearing glorious—he had been at this vantage point more than several times before, but usually Harry’s boxers would be off, or at least pulled down. 

The two looked at each other, both sensing the tension in the room, and then Harry laughed, almost awkwardly, “Alright. That’s where I’ll be.”

He headed up the stairs, and disappeared on the landing. Louis sighed, and then looked around. The place was kind of a mess. Him and Harry had moved out separately, and it seems Harry had purposefully left some things behind. Like a framed picture of them on the mantle, which was taken at Christmas as Harry’s mom’s house. 

They looked happy, and young.

Louis stood up and made his way to the laundry room, which was down the hallway from the kitchen, where they kept their cleaning supplies. He couldn’t imagine why Harry would move those things out of the house. Once in the laundry room, he found their duster and some 409, and then made his way out to the kitchen.

He imagined them, trying to get the house clean one night before they had to leave for tour in the morning. Harry said he would vacuum and pick up, and Louis said he would take care of some sorely neglected dirty dishes and completely clean the kitchen. He remembers how comforting the silence in the house was, and how full and lived-in the house felt. Their dining room table was stacked with luggage, they had a mat by the front door. Their mantle was crowded with picture frames, they had houseplants all along the northern wall of windows. The pool wasn’t drained and was sparkling, chock full of chlorine. The landscaping was immaculate and the sheets stripped, ready for when their housekeepers came that night to make the house tour-ready. It would be empty for a few months.

The house itself seemed to have a life, fueled by his and Harry’s presence in it, affection for each other.

They had searched for this house together, something both of them liked. Big like Louis liked but still cozy, how Harry liked. It had a bonus room on the furthest side of the house, with a beautiful view of sunsets, that they converted into a writing room and mini studio, and on the best days, piano chords and guitar strumming would filter out into the rest of the house.

It was easy to remember, at first, how it felt to be with each other, sexually. It was the most physical and easy to remember piece of their history—neither could forget the way it felt to be touched by the other. And it was surely a loss when they felt it now—to have it, and then to not have it.

But as Harry showered and Louis cleaned, they came to remember what it felt like to cohabitate, which was a feeling deeper than any sexual experience they shared. To be partners, to work out who would make dinner or who would order in, who payed the bills and who would remember to call the landscapers, to remember to FaceTime their families at least once a week, to invite people over for dinner. To be companions. It was a greater loss than anything else between them, and both of them felt it deeply and profoundly that morning in their old home.

As Louis looked through whatever dishes they had left in the cabinets, he had the sudden and nearly alarming realization that what he wanted was that.

Compared to his yearning for Harry’s companionship again, for his friendship, partnership—his desire to tour, to write music, to travel, to be with Eleanor—all faded away. It became only this house and the boy upstairs, his greatest companion. That was all he came to want.

And as Harry toweled off from his shower, looking through their closets for any articles of clothing that had been left behind, he missed Louis. And not missed like “I wonder how he is.” Missed like he wished he could blink and they would be five years younger, making dinner in this house for the first time. Missed like he felt like he hadn’t talked to the only person who had really ever understood him in almost a year, and he needed him. Needed him. Like maybe he couldn’t live a happy, full life without him. Like he almost knew he couldn’t.

He found a pair of boxers he was sure used to be Louis, one of his old t-shirts and sweatpants, and headed downstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope these short chapters don't drive you guys crazy. when i read fics i like the chapters to be short otherwise i can get bored and distracted. thank you guys for hanging in there. i have a really great ending and i can't wait to write it. xoxox


	13. Tiled Kitchens & Hardwood Floors

“Nice outfit,” Louis said upon seeing Harry, smiling as he looked him up and down. “Was that still in the closet?”

Harry nodded, watching as Louis scrubbed the sink, “Yeah. Are you cleaning?”

Louis nodded, “Believe it or not.”

“I guess I have to believe it,” Harry laughed, opening the pantry to inspect it. “Is it bad I’m already hungry?”

Louis nodded, “Yes.” He felt like, in that moment, they were themselves again. Then he looked in the pantry, over Harry’s shoulder, and saw nothing but a few boxes of pasta. “That’s a sorry sight.”

“I guess I’m on my own,” Harry sighed, closing the door. “I can wait till lunch.”

Louis smiled at him, wringing out the sponge and wiping his hands on his boxers, “I should probably get dressed, eh?”

Harry shrugged, “Doesn’t matter to me.”

Louis looked at him, almost scolding, and then said, “There any more clothes up there?”

“I just looked through my side of the closet,” Harry said, “I don’t know if you have any stuff up there.”

“Wanna go check with me?” Louis asked. 

Harry nodded enthusiastically and motioned for Louis to go ahead of him. The two made their way up the stairs, and Louis said, “Is that shower as nice as I remember?”

“Water pressure’s kinda shit now,” Harry replied.

“No way,” Louis retorted.

“Yeah, I was less than impressed,” Harry told him as they rounded the corner into their old bedroom.

One large walk-in closet, separated down the middle by a thin divider where they used to put their shoes, was off the bedroom to the right almost immediately after the door. Louis went to the left side, his side, and opened a drawer. Nothing but a few boxers.

“That might be useful,” Louis commented, taking a pair, and then opening the drawer beneath it. Harry wandered the closet behind him, admiring the dark wood fixtures.

In the second drawer Louis opened there were a few t-shirts, a pair of gym shorts, and a shoe box. He put down the boxers on the top of the drawers and took out the box. He didn’t recognize it—it looked almost ancient, worn down on the edges and whatever logo that used to be on it nearly completely rubbed off.

But then he opened it.

It was filled with photos, and then he remembered—this is where he put all the pictures of him and Harry before they moved out. Every picture frame, photo on the fridge, photo stored in an album—right there, in that box. It had been a painstaking process for Louis that he felt necessary at the time; he had intended it to be healing, but just left him feeling spiteful. He remembers Harry getting to the house to pick up some furniture as he was finishing up taking the photos off the fridge, and Harry had said, looking equal parts annoyed and hurt, “Can’t just leave em up?”

Louis didn’t respond, almost acted like Harry hadn’t just walked in. He forgot the extent of the anger he felt.

“Harry,” he said, lifting off the top a picture of them, Harry not even seventeen, the first time they visited Doncaster. “Look at this.”

Harry was soon at Louis side and taking the picture as Louis handed it to him, “So this is where all the pictures went.”

“Shit,” Louis remarked, picking up a photograph of Harry with Lou’s daughter, the little girl holding Harry’s cheeks between her small hands.

Harry smiled widely when he saw it, “Jesus. Look at her.”

“Look at this,” Louis said, moving rather quickly through the pictures, handing Harry a picture of him, Louis, and Johannah the day she got married.

Harry took it and held it, wanting to go back to that day. To meeting Louis’s gran, sitting next to Louis at the service and reception, being able to be together. It was a good day. A really good day.

Next a picture of them backstage at the AMAs, the year Harry wore the Gucci suit, taken by Lottie. Harry had his arm wrapped around Louis’s shoulders, lips pressed to the side of Louis’s forehead. Harry was a vision in that suit.

“Do you still have that suit?” Louis asked, showing Harry the picture.

Harry nodded, “Somewhere.”

“It’s one of my favorites,” Louis replied, smiling to himself. Harry watched his smile and racked his brain in an effort to remember where he put that suit. He needed to find that suit.

“I’ve been liking your looks as of late,” Louis commented, looking at Harry out of the corner of his eye, handing him another photograph. It was just a photo of Louis, waist-deep in their now-empty pool, holding a beer.

“Yeah?” Harry asked, his face lightening.

Louis nodded, “Yeah, they’re great. If the hiatus ends I think you should stick to it.”

“If?” Harry asked, studying the picture of Louis in the pool, not being able to help a smile.

“I mean when,” Louis looked at him, “when.”

The next picture Louis picked up was of Harry, standing in the kitchen of their old house in LA, the first one they rented. He was wearing a onesie and a Santa hat, making something on the stove. Louis smiled looking at it, remembering that moment vividly. 

It was Christmas morning of 2013, the first Christmas they spent in LA. Since they had been together, they had either spent Christmases at one of their mom’s houses or at their place in London. Louis remembered really feeling like a couple that Christmas, and feeling strangely adult, despite Harry still being practically a teenager. Harry had gotten Louis a new soccer jersey, cleats, and a watch. Louis got Harry a few new pairs of shoes, a guitar, which prompted him to begin to learn how to play, and printed out a few properties he liked in LA. He remembered Harry’s face when he suggested they buy a place together. A million-dollar smile.

“I remember that Christmas,” Harry said upon taking the photo as Louis handed it to him. “You printed out the listing for this house.”

Louis nodded, “Sure did. Looked at lot different.”

“So different,” Harry nodded, “had tile in the kitchen.”

“What kind of monsters put tile in a kitchen,” Louis commented playfully.

“Monsters,” Harry repeated, smiling at the picture of him in their old house’s kitchen.

“Were we home when we had people refloor the house?” Louis asked, trying to remember.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “Remember? It was like four guys, and they took all the tile in the house out. They like broke each tile, and then scraped the grout, which is the grainy thing between the tiles, and then matched wood planks to the size and grain of the hardwood already in the house, and then installed it, and then the refinished all the floors in the house. The house smelled like stain for a long time.”

Louis smiled at Harry as he explained how they refinished their flooring, missing how he would explain things to Louis. If anyone else explained anything that lengthily, Louis would have cut them off. But not Harry. Never Harry. He could hear him explain things for too long and in too much detail all day.

“I remember now. I said we should go to Bali again,” Louis said, “but you liked to watch the work in progress.”

“We did go to Bali later that year,” Harry defended himself.

“That was a really fun trip,” Louis smiled.

Harry nodded and looked at Louis, waiting until Louis looked back at him. He finally did. They stood there, for what felt a very long time, looking at each other. The hopefulness Louis felt that morning returned, and for a moment he felt a tinge of excitement, like he had the opportunity to fall in love with Harry again.

“Have you been to Bali since the last time we went?” Harry asked.

Louis shook his head, “Nah.”

2017\. Louis remembered packing with Harry, helping him prepare for both his tour and the one week they would spend in Bali before he had to leave. They had both been very stressed before leaving; both had anxiety about leaving the other, Harry was nervous about touring by himself, and Louis was worried about what that would mean for their relationship. It all felt very delicate at the time.

But Bali let them just be with each other for a week. Days started late and went on into the night, with good rum and friendly locals. It was warm and the water was nearly clear, and everything felt ok. It was one of the last times it did.

Louis could have lived in that memory for a while, but then he remembered, not even a year later, meeting Harry in a hotel room and telling him he hated him.

“Me neither,” Harry said.

“Do you remember when we went right before you left for you tour?” Louis asked, forcing himself to bring it up. He realized then that this, bringing up memories he wanted for himself, was “figuring it out,” “talking about it.” And that’s what he wanted to do.

Harry nodded, “Of course. It was a good trip.”

“I think that might be the last really good time we spent together.”

Louis watched Harry, waiting for his reaction. Harry nodded in agreement, “I think it was too. We were doing things right.”

“Yeah,” Louis said. “I remember feeling really close to you.”

Harry nodded, and then another silence fell upon them.

“Louis,” Harry broke it, “I was thinking in the shower, that I should be upfront with you about what I want.”

Louis looked at Harry, worry filling the pit of his stomach. This is when Harry would tell him he didn’t want to be anything more than friends, that he just didn’t want animosity, that he has no real feelings for him. He would tell him what Louis had feared all along, why Louis had tried to keep some walls up.

Louis felt his heart sink and felt stupid for a moment that he ever thought Harry would want him back. He should have known. He feared he had misinterpreted all of Harry’s kindness and warmness as real feelings, having forgotten that Harry is just a nice person, and would treat anyone with this regard.

Just because they had history, because they were once in love, didn’t mean Harry suddenly wanted him back. He felt like an idiot for letting himself think that, even just a little bit, since Harry called him not even twenty-four hours before.

Louis nodded, begging Harry in his head to just speak, say the truth, so Louis could be released from the anticipation. That Harry didn’t want to get back together, that he just didn’t want to think Louis to hated him anymore, and after he knew that, they could both move on. 

He watched Harry’s face, feeling like he would be sick if he had to wait one more moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tee hee cliffhanger. ty guys for reading. stay safe all of you. xoxoxo


	14. There Is No Expiration Date

“I want you,” Harry said, as sure as Louis had ever heard him say anything, “and I want a life with you.”

The feeling Louis felt then, as Harry said that, was nothing short of pure elation. Nearly euphoria. Harry wanted him. Harry. The person he thought he had hurt too much, too irrevocably. The person who had loved more than nearly anyone. Those words felt better than any drugs he had ever taken.

“Really?” Louis asked, searching Harry’s eyes for untruthfulness. He could find none in the eyes he could read so well.

“Yes,” Harry told him, just as sure.

“I thought I’d hurt you too much,” Louis said, barely speaking above a whisper, his disbelief beginning to settle.

“And I had thought I had hurt you too much,” Harry told him. “But if you want to give me chance, I will love you better than I ever have. I feel like this is our chance to get it right.”

Louis nodded at Harry, feeling a tension behind his eyes.

“But we have to do it right,” Harry said, “and I can’t be here with you, and we can’t do it right, with you and Eleanor together. And I’m not telling you to break up with her. I’m not. I want what makes you happiest. But if you also want to get it right, in the way I do, which is in the hopes that we end up together after all this, I don’t think it’s fair to Eleanor.”

Louis nodded, not able to peel his eyes off Harry. “You’re right.”

Harry watched him, both sadness and hopefulness imminent in his eyes, which were becoming glossy.

“And I want you to have the time to decide,” Harry said. “I thought we could come here, and just coop ourselves up until we had the chance to figure it out, but that’s just not right, or fair.”

Louis nodded.

“Does that sound ok?” Harry asked. “I feel like I’m talking a lot.”

“Yeah,” Louis said. “Sorry, I just, I don’t know why, but I really thought you had forgotten all about me.”

Harry shook his head, nearly smiling, “I did pretty much the opposite of that. I spent the last day talking my assistant’s ear off about you.”

Louis chuckled lightly, and Harry followed in suit.

“Still with Jacqueline?” Louis asked.

“No,” Harry shook his head, “she moved to New York. A girl named Lily.”

“You like her?” Louis asked.

Harry nodded, “You would love her.”

“I’m gonna go home for a little while,” Louis said to Harry, “and talk to Eleanor.”

Harry nodded, but was filled with worry. The outcome still felt so uncertain, that Louis could chose not to feel about Harry the way Harry felt about him.

“Do what you need to,” Harry told him, and he meant it.

“Give us a week,” Louis said. “I’ll know in a week.”

Harry nodded, “Any amount of time, Louis. My feelings don’t have, you know, an expiration date or anything.”

Louis smiled, and looked at Harry, “Thank you.”

The two looked at each other, and then Louis opened his arms to give Harry a quick hug. Harry held him there, tightly, for just a moment.

After locking up the house and closing the gate, Harry and Louis headed back towards Louis’s house. As Louis watched Harry pull out of the driveway, and as he opened his front door to the home he shared with Eleanor, he had a feeling that things would be ok, and he knew that they were finally doing it right.

And he knew he wanted Harry. He just didn’t know how he should go about it.

As Harry drove away, heading back to his home, he had the same trepidations as Louis, but they were considerably more hopeful. Being with Louis, driving with him, eating with him, being in their old house with him, felt so overwhelmingly right to Harry. It felt like the piece that had been missing from his life, the piece that made him feel a bit empty and lost, was slowly slipping back into place.

And it wasn’t Louis. A person can’t make you complete. He knew this. It was the way Louis made him feel, the comfort and the love that was innate in the boy, the way Harry could always be sure Louis only had his best intentions in mind. He was the only one. The only one to be Harry’s partner and companion, who really knew what it was like to be him, and to live his life. Harry knew he was.

As he drove home, he became sure of his convictions in his mission to get Louis back. He would do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short little chapter but couldn't keep you guys waiting. the chapter title is so bad lol i am having a hard time naming chapters nowadays. thank you guys for reading ily stay healthy xoxo


	15. Real Bed, Real Boyfriend

“Eleanor?” Louis called throughout the house when he walked into the door, taking off his shoes.

“In here!” he heard Eleanor call from their dining room.

As he rounded the corner he found Eleanor sitting at the table, looking at her phone, a half-full plastic cup of coffee in front of her.

“Hey,” Louis smiled, going to the cabinet. He was parched.

“Hey hon,” she smiled at him. “How’d it go with Harry?”

Louis nodded, “It went.”

“What does that mean?” she laughed lightly, putting down her phone.

“Well,” Louis sighed, “it went in a way that means me and you need to talk.”

He watched her as he filled a cup up with water from the tap. He watched her eyes watch him and could feel her anticipation. She had known this was coming.

“One night with Harry,” she said quietly, “all it takes.”

“El,” Louis said, not taking his eyes off her, “I haven’t made any decisions yet.”

“Did you sleep with him?” Eleanor asked, as even-keeled as she could be.

“No,” Louis said, promptly. “No, of course not.”

Eleanor nodded, “That’s all I could think about.”

“Us sleeping together?” Louis questioned.

Eleanor nodded, “It’s hard to imagine your boyfriend with another person, much less another man.”

Louis looked at Eleanor, and he felt for her. He did. This was all incredibly hard on her.

“I’m sorry,” Louis said, “about all of this.”

Eleanor nodded, “Who would’ve thought we would end up like this?”

“Yeah,” Louis said, and he knew he, just nine years prior, would never have guessed. For years, Eleanor was his friend. A beard, sure. But, in all honesty, the time they spent together wasn’t miserable. She was fun, she had a good sense of humor, and if anyone had to pretend to be his girlfriend for a while, he was happy it was Eleanor.

It was when him and Harry broke it off the second week into Harry’s tour that Louis saw Eleanor again, and felt something different about her. It wasn’t the same way he felt about Harry—the strong and often volatile emotional and physical responses were absent—but he had real feelings. She knew him, and understood him, and cared for him. It was sometimes hard to find people like that.

Maybe he was at a different place in his life, or maybe it was a change of heart, but he could remember the first night they went from a platonic work-like relationship to a more genuine one, and it was after not being able to see Harry for two weeks. Louis was lonely, and Eleanor understood him in a lot of ways that Harry did, too.

But his feelings for her paled next to his feelings for Harry. Almost completely disappeared.  
Louis had never liked labels. Even with Harry, the few times Harry had suggested marriage, Louis voiced his opinions against such strict boundaries labels can sometimes place on relationships. He trusted Harry and Harry trusted him, and that was enough.

Because of his general aversion to labels, the label of his sexuality always seemed to be a point of contention. He had liked girls and guys, but had only ever had those strong, overwhelming feelings for a man. The ambiguity of it all seemed to Louis to be a sign that it was a thing not requiring a title, and he was ok with that.

He remembered telling his mom that he liked Harry. At first, she didn’t really understand. Her only son and oldest child away from home, calling to tell her he liked a boy. At first she was happy he was making friends. He had to come right out and tell her him and Harry kissed. Louis could remember the brief silence, and then the sound of his mom’s voice, undoubtedly smiling, “I’m glad you’ve found someone you like, Louis. That’s all that matters to me.”

It was never his family or friends that were the issue in his decision to not come, or be, out, whatever that would look like. He knew even Eleanor would be supportive if he chose to do that.

But the culture regarding anyone who wasn’t straight in 2010 was not nearly as warm as the one in 2020.

The people who surrounded him when he was thrown into the world of showbusiness were less than kind to him about his and Harry’s burgeoning romance, and Louis largely took the brunt of it. He didn’t want Harry, who he often felt like was too young and sensitive for the whole ordeal in the first place, to hear the things he had to hear.

He distinctly remembered in 2011 being brought into an executive’s office after the Up All Night Tour. He was shown tweets, pictures, videos, interviews—almost every piece of hard evidence for his relationship with Harry. He felt so targeted and alone in that room, and would never forget what the man behind the desk said to him.

“If you want this to happen, Louis,” he spoke, without any hesitation, “if you want to succeed in this, you can’t be gay. You can’t have a boyfriend. No parents want their little girls to like fags.”

It’s one of those moments Louis might live in forever. It fundamentally changed the way he saw the people around him in the industry and the way he saw the world. It also changed the way he saw himself.

Firstly, he became to himself, in a lot of ways, straight—with one exception. Other than Harry, he was straight. That’s what he had learned to tell himself.

Secondly, he became the protector of Harry. He felt like he had to protect him from people who would say to him what he had heard that day from that executive. And he never wanted that for Harry. He wanted Harry to be as liberated and free as he could be, more than he wanted that for himself.

Finally, he became disillusioned. He had always seen stardom as a place where people would just accept you. But it often felt like the exact opposite. He had to be Louis Tomlinson, one fifth of One Direction, not Louis Tomlinson, human being. And that was the hardest part.

He had never had time to really reflect on his sexuality, because the first time the question of it was presented, nearly everyone around him was telling him it was something bad, something detrimental.

As he stood in the kitchen with Eleanor, he realized that reflecting on that, his sexuality, would probably be one of the first things he needed to do in this week of figuring stuff out.

“Hey.” Eleanor brought him back to his house, to where he was standing. “You ok?”

Louis nodded, “I’m going to be honest with you.”

Eleanor nodded. 

“Harry told me he still has feelings for me,” Louis started, “and I told him, before I say anything or make any decisions, I need a week. To think about it, and to talk to you.”

Eleanor nodded, watching Louis intently. “Do you have feelings for him?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Louis nodded, “Yeah, I think I do.”

Eleanor smiled, so weakly it almost hurt Louis, “Ok.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, ever,” Louis said, looking at her, trying his best to convey how genuine he was.

“I know,” she said. “I know.”

“And I don’t want you to feel blindsided,” Louis kept on, feeling desperate in his quest to preserve her feelings.

Eleanor laughed, lightly but sweetly, “I could never be blindsided by you saying you have feelings for Harry.”

Louis chuckled along with her, “Yeah.”

Eleanor nodded, “Just, reflect, and, if you need to, talk to me.”

Louis smiled at her, feeling lucky to have her, a person he felt like cared about him. Really cared. “Thank you.”

Eleanor nodded, “I want you to be happy.”

“That’s what I want for you, too,” Louis told her, and he meant it.

“I know,” Eleanor said, nodding as reassuringly as she could. “I know.”

Louis left her in the kitchen, wandering to the other side of their home, towards the spare room he spent most of his time in when he was in LA. Part writing room, part music room, part FIFA room. He would call it a mancave if he liked such a word, but he detested it, so it remained the music room.

He looked out the same window he looked out just two night before, the same night Harry called him. He was overwhelmed by how quickly his life had changed. On New Year’s Day he was happily with Eleanor, and Harry felt like his past, exclusively. 

But today, just two days later, Harry had confessed his feelings, and Louis had undoubtedly felt them too. He was at a crossroads, and knew that the decisions he made in the next week would affect the rest of his life.

Then he was back in 2014. FOUR tour. They had two shows in some town in the southern US. He could barely remember. But they had stayed in a hotel instead of in the tour bus, and Harry was washing his face as Louis lied on the bed.

“A real bed,” Harry sang jokingly from the bathroom, “a real bed, a real bed.”

Louis smiled, sitting up to crack his back. 

Upon hearing it, Harry poked his head out of the bathroom, face sudsed up. “Hey. That’s bad for your back, remember?”

Louis jokingly gave him the finger, and Harry went back to rinsing his face. Louis was just as thankful for a real, two-person sized bed as Harry was, but he wasn’t gonna sing about it.

Harry continued his tune as he turned off the bathroom light and headed towards Louis’s side of the bed. Louis lied down and watched him attempt to turn off the lamp, as hotel lamps were always notoriously pesky, and once he did, the room was sent into darkness.

Louis knew what was coming next. “Please don’t lie down on me, Harry.”

But, alas, the next thing Louis knew, Harry’s warm body was on top of his, an elbow accidentally pressing into his stomach. Louis couldn’t help but laugh, mainly at Harry’s own ignorance of his size, and Louis’, for that matter, but also because Louis was criminally ticklish, and anything was enough to make him laugh.

Finally, after Louis found Harry’s biceps in the dark, he pushed him off him, and Harry rolled over to the other side of the bed.

“A real bed,” Harry continued his song, “a real bed.”

Louis nodded as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and the small amount of light that filtered in from outside illuminated Harry has he attempted to get under the covers next to Louis.

“Are you tired?” Louis asked, looking to Harry.

“Am I tired?” Harry asked slowly. “Are you coming on to me?”

“Maybe,” Louis sighed quietly, turning to Harry. He pulled Harry towards him, and Harry moved so he was on top of him. He kissed him, finding Harry’s face in the darkness.

“A real bed,” Harry continued to sing, his lips still on Louis’. “A real boyfriend.”

Louis laughed and reached up to kiss Harry’s neck, moving his hands down his sides.

“A very loving boyfriend,” Harry sang softly, and Louis could feel the goosebumps on Harry’s skin.

Louis gently pushed Harry over so he was on his back and straddled him, continuing to kiss his way down his body.

He was pulled away from reliving that moment by a bark at the half-open door as his dog let himself into the room. Louis smiled at the memory, feeling as if it’s reliving was within his reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyoneeeeeee. i know this might upset some people but i wanted to portray eleanor in the best light possible. we (everyone except those directly involved in the situation) have a very limited scope of what the "truth" is, and i don't claim for this story to even emulate the "truth" a little bit. "hating on" a person for something we really don't know anything about seems both harmful and fruitless. i also discuss louis' sexuality in this chapter, and i will in the upcoming chapters as well. i want to be clear. this is pure fiction. we have to take people for their word regarding their sexuality and it's no one's business but theirs. you guys are awesome!!! thank you so much for reading!! xoxoxo


	16. Given A Chance

Eleanor sat down across from Louis, handing him a plate of spinach salad and pesto chicken that she had made for him.

The image of it made him feel guilty.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling at her.

“You’re welcome,” she replied, beginning to cut into her own chicken.

“I don’t think we’ve ever had this before,” Louis said, taking a bite.

Eleanor shook her head, “New recipe. You like?”

Louis nodded, “Yeah, it’s great.”

“Did you get some thinking done today?” Eleanor asked, looking across the table to her boyfriend.

Louis nodded, “Yeah, I did.”

Eleanor watched him, silently prompting him to share.

“I’ve known since I met Harry that I have feelings for him,” Louis started, “and since then it’s either been indulging myself in those feelings or resenting him and repressing the feelings.”

Eleanor nodded. This was not news to her.

“So, now I am faced with whether, right now, I want to indulge or repress.”

Eleanor looked at Louis, “Why do you see it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Two extremes,” Eleanor replied. “You’ve been with, or without, Harry before in ways that aren’t indulgent or repressive.”

Louis looked at her and realized he hadn’t had real clarity about that yet. He always felt and thought in extremes with Harry.

“I don’t know,” Louis said, “I guess I just… yeah, I don’t know.”

“I don’t think you see our relationship like that,” Eleanor said.

“In extremes?” Louis asked.

Eleanor nodded, “I mean, do you?”

Louis shook his head, “No. But our relationship has been considerably less conflict-ridden than mine and Harry’s.”

“Fair enough,” Eleanor said, “but we were never as in love.”

Her statement, the easy way she said it, how she didn’t even pause chewing her chicken alarmed Louis.  
“I love you,” Louis told her, not wanting her to get it mixed in her head.

“I know that,” Eleanor told him, “and I love you, too. But I don’t think it’s fair to either of us to even compare what we have to you and Harry.”

“No?” Louis asked.

He didn’t know if he was truly surprised at her take at their own relationship, or just surprised at her candor, but we was surely surprised. He knew Eleanor to be strong and candid, but even this took him aback.

“You and Harry really fell in love, Lou. Like, young, first love kind of love,” Eleanor said, gently. “You’ve been through these big life things together. I love you, of course I do, but I think we’re good at cohabitating and feeling comfortable around each other. And I don’t want you to think this is me expressing in some way I don’t have strong feelings for you, and I want to break up. Because it’s not that. But I want you to be happy. And if you’re having these doubts about us and these feelings about Harry, you’re having them for a reason.”

Louis nodded, and then looked at his plate.

After several long moments of silence, Eleanor said, “Are you going to talk to me?”

Louis looked at her, “I don’t want to hurt you, Eleanor.”

“And I don’t want you to say nothing, or just tell me what I want to hear,” she replied. “You said earlier that we needed to talk, and that’s what I’m ready to do.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Louis told her, putting down his fork.

“Maybe start with what you and Harry talked about.”

Louis nodded, and then said, “Well, we went back to our old house, and talked about how lonely we felt sometimes, and kind of like, reminisced, I guess. Talked about Bali.”

Louis made a conscious effort to not smile to himself, and then looked to Eleanor.

“If you could have anything, right now, what would it be?” Eleanor asked.

“I don’t know,” Louis said, beginning to feel frustrated. “It’s not that easy of a question.”

“If there were no outside forces, or consequences, or anything,” Eleanor clarified, “if you could have absolutely anything.”

Louis looked at her, uncertain, “I don’t know how far fantasy is going to get us, El.”

“My mom used to do this to help me make decisions,” she said, “I was shit at decision making when I was a kid. It clears your mind. Helps you decide what you want when you don’t know.”

“So if there were no consequences,” Louis continued, “at all?”

Eleanor shook her head, “None at all.”

Louis looked down at the table and remembered a note Harry wrote him right after the hiatus began. It was about one page long, left on their kitchen table in London by Harry, who had left for LA for the weekend.

Louis didn’t remember all of it, of course, but did remember one line, scrawled across the paper in Harry’s quick cursive.

Given a chance, I would always choose you.

The words reverberated in Louis’s head, and he looked across the table.

“I would be with Harry.”

The clarity, the forthrightness, the honesty surprised him. He had not be so upfront in a long time.

Eleanor looked at him, her lips brought together with a very layered pain—in her eyes Louis saw only understanding. She nodded, “Now you know. You know what you want.”

Louis didn’t know what to say. He knew he had hurt Eleanor, irreversibly this time. Never before in their relationship, since it had been genuine, exclusive, and romantic, had he been so truthful about Harry.

“Waste no time, Lou,” she continued, a small smile on her face as she put a piece of chicken into her mouth.

“Why are you so ok with all of this?” Louis asked.

“I mean, if you were telling me you had spent the past twenty-four hours recounting old memories and warm feelings with another ex,” Eleanor started, “I’d be pissed.”

The two laughed. Louis was grateful humor could be found.

“But you weren’t,” Eleanor continued, “you were with Harry. It’s not like this is surprising to me, Louis. I am happy to be your interim, but this was just a matter of time. Always has been.”

She was right. Of course she was. It was impossible for Eleanor to not be aware of her role in the relationship, or at least the history behind that role. Louis felt like he could not have been luckier.

“Eleanor,” he said quietly, offering his hand to her, “I’m a very lucky man.”

She took it, squeezing it gently, “Bet your ass you are.”

Eleanor retired to their bedroom, giving Louis a quick kiss on the cheek before she did, leaving Louis at the kitchen table, an empty plate in front of him. He would miss meals with Eleanor: neither him or Harry could really cook for shit.

Louis brought his plate to the sink, still thinking about the letter Harry wrote for him. He had to still have it, it would just be a matter of finding it. As he made his way to his music room, he debated the pros and cons of taking the whole week he told Harry he would.

His conversation with Eleanor was immensely helpful, and undoubtedly freeing, and he was beyond ready to jump Harry’s bones, but he felt like he had to reflect on what he would do differently this time around.

If they were to get it right, do it right, would it require Louis not going on tour this year? Would it require a postponement to the One Direction reunion in the summer, a permanent move back to London? Louis didn’t know.

Once in his music room, he began searching through the desk with his computer on it, a desk from his mom’s house. In a few generations it would be a family heirloom.

In the bottom-most drawer on the left side he found a small file folder, with a few envelopes. Letters. From his sisters, his mom, a few notes Eleanor had left around the house that he had kept, and then, of course, those horribly long and sappy notes Harry would write. 

He had letters from a sixteen year old Harry and a twenty-four year old Harry, and all the ages in-between, and quickly found the one he was thinking about at dinner. Dated November 1, 2016, the sight of Harry’s handwriting made Louis strangely emotional.

Louis,

I’m going to have to leave so early tomorrow, and there’s a lot I want to say to you, but you’re on the phone with your sister, and I think not in a great mood, since I’m leaving tomorrow, so I won’t bother with trying to tell you anything now.

I know you think I’m leaving excitedly to start what you refer to as “Big Boy Harry Sings Alone,” but I’m not. I’m optimistic about writing this album, but none of me wants to leave you sleeping in bed tomorrow morning, or imagine you in this house alone. None of me. 

I feel like there has been some unspoken tension between us since you first found out I was really pursuing a solo career, and I know we’ve fought about it and talked about it, but I don’t think I’ve ever been clear enough with you.

Given a chance, I would always choose you.

This goes for everything. I have faith that you want me to go to LA tomorrow, and that’s why I’m doing it. If you read this letter and think differently, one call, and I’ll be home. I often feel that, now more than ever, you are coming to resent me. I don’t want that, ever, for us. I also feel like you need convincing of the way I feel about you.

I don’t know what else to say, L. I will always choose you, and I love you. I will miss you more than anything, and will anxiously wait until I’m home. Only nine days this time. We’ve dealt with much more.

Don’t be sad, don’t get drunk alone, don’t come to hate me. I adore you, completely. I can’t help but worry about you sometimes, though. I’m sorry. About worrying and leaving. I am. It’s in my nature. I hope you can forgive me.

I’ll call you when I get in. I’ll love you a long time,

H.

Louis remembered that night. He was mad at Harry, and he was building resentments. He didn’t want Harry to leave, he didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want Harry to experience all of those things without him, but knew Harry needed to, and it was important that he did. 

It was his own worries about him and Harry, and a little bit of his own selfishness, up against his feelings for Harry, his unending love.

He left the letter open on the desk, and looked at the swirling graphics of the screensaver, which illuminated the darkening room.

Something would have to give. He couldn’t balance it all right now: Harry and his career, building something strong with Harry and his career, seemed incompatible. His answer to that, in the past, had been—“if we can’t fix it, we have to stand it.” But he was realizing that it was something that could be fixed, their situation. They didn’t have to keep wearing themselves thin with work. 

Louis began to fantasize about two years, maybe even three, of nothing but him and Harry, doing nothing but relaxing, attempting normalcy. A fantasy it was, but a small part of him feared that, maybe, it was necessary. But he knew it would be hard to convince Harry of. He sat in the dark room, pondering the occurrences of the past forty eight hours, unsure if he was just imagining it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this chapter is cohesive. i had a lot of thoughts and feelings that hopefully translated. thank you guys, again, for reading. please let me know what you think of this so far!! i love reading comments. :)))) xoxox


	17. Remembering What It Is to Love You (The Right Way)

Louis woke in the morning, lying in the bed of one of his spare bedrooms, feeling guilty. He had dreamt about the letter Harry wrote, and in the dream, which was undoubtedly the strangest projection his subconscious could muster, he was alone in the desert and talking to a bodiless voice about giving people the cold shoulder.

It was a weakness he was aware of. He was very good at treating people how he felt, and often failed at telling them. Harry was always privy to it, and often gave Louis the room to be like this.

But Louis knew the way he had treated Harry—ignoring him, passive aggressive moves, his classic, “Yes, I’m fine,” were thing that would have to change. Louis did remember one day, on a three day break between time in LA that Harry had been home in 2017, that he had snapped at Louis.

Louis had slept on the couch in the living room, and when Harry asked if everything was alright, Louis said, “Never been better.”

“Instead of being sarcastic you could give sincerity a shot, Louis,” Harry sighed. Louis remembered how tired he looked, and how, despite being at his most vulnerable with Harry, many times over, he felt too vulnerable to be comfortable, and instead of being tender, withdrew.

“You’re home,” Louis said, “I’ve never been better.”

On Harry’s very rare day off, he retreated to their bedroom, watched TV, and made some business calls. Louis had made him retreat, and at the time, Louis didn’t know why. 

As he made himself coffee in his house, as Eleanor quietly began to pack her shoes in their master bedroom, he realized that few times had he been in a lower spot than he was when Harry first embarked on his solo career.

It came on the coattails of his mom’s death, and at a particularly hard time for his own career, and ego. He was nothing but proud of Harry, and wanted nothing but success for him. But his own inability to get good footing was difficult to deal with as Harry took off, and that feeling of failure as an artist translated to feelings of failure as a partner and lover.

Louis hadn’t felt worthy of Harry’s care and devotion, of his love for him despite Louis’ coldness and hardness. It was an endless cycle—Louis’ sense of unworthiness was brought about by Harry’s love, and because of that he couldn’t accept Harry’s love, which worsened his feelings of unworthiness, and made him a, frankly, bad partner. He didn’t see himself as deserving.

He recognized the pattern then, and new it was something he would need to pay attention to if him and Harry were to make it work. He sat down at the dining table, as it began to rain in Los Angeles, and drank his coffee.

As he finished the mug, he saw a text. It was from Harry.

Just thinking about you. I’m not trying to rush you. Just wanted to make sure you were ok.

Louis smiled at the phone, and decided to try his hand at vulnerability.

We’re good. Eleanor’s beginning to pack some stuff. I might not need the week.

Louis watched as the text sent, and felt just a fraction of the excitement he felt when him and Harry first met in 2010. Just a fraction, but it was enough for him to get that funny feeling in his stomach. A new text from Harry appeared.

Whenever you’re ready. I’ve been staying at the old house.

Louis smiled, and typed.

Not too lonely?

Harry replied quickly.

I absolutely am. But I don’t want you to feel rushed.

Louis rolled his eyes, only with love, at Harry’s sensitivity, and put down his phone. He wanted to see Harry, more than anything, but he needed to do it at a time he could have his feelings sorted, at a time when he could be completely tender, open, and loving with Harry. It was Harry deserved.

He made his way back up to his music room, where he would spend the next few days, almost exclusively, and sat down, a pen and paper before him. It was time to write something, just for Harry, that he would tell him directly, reestablish his feelings, put any ambiguity and coldness behind him.

He was going to love Harry different, and this was the beginning of it.

Harry, in the meantime, was dusting, vacuuming, and reorganizing their old home. He spent a particularly sunny day doing as much gardening one could accomplish in the winter, even renting a pressure washer for their driveway. When he called to talk to his sister, as he was trying to make an effort to do more often, she asked why he didn’t just hire someone.

“I want it to symbolize to Louis that I’m putting in effort,” Harry explained, “emotionally and physically.”

He knew Louis would think it cheesy, but, ultimately, appreciate it deeply. That was how Louis felt about most acts of love.

As Harry worked, finding the labor very contemplative, he thought about what he would want to be different, if he got another chance with Louis. He wanted to be available, something he was rarely, or, if he was, it was on his own terms.

He remembered the days he would be home, just weeks before him and Louis ended if for the last time, save their brief sexual encounters while he was on tour, and would feel frustrated that Louis either wasn’t in the mood or seemed withdrawn.

He felt like Louis owed it to him—enthusiasm and at least two “vibrant fucks,” as Harry would describe them the morning after, with a cheeky smile, in the small amount of time they had together. He didn’t understand at the time that he couldn’t expect Louis to turn it on the three days a month he was home. It was a lot, maybe even too much to ask, that Louis be waiting at home, smile on his face.

Harry realized that, often, he expected Louis to give love as freely as he did, when he knew it was something Louis struggled with. As they grew older, as Louis became more repressed by their management and general public opinion, tenderness became an issue.

Misplaced aggression towards Harry could at times, be an issue. Never physical—Louis treated Harry with such physical gentleness it was often overwhelming—but surely emotional. Harry often felt like he had to take Louis’s rare word for it—“I love you”s became scarcer, and more afraid. Snapping was not uncommon, and Louis kept his distance from Harry publicly. It’s all they could do, it’s what they had to do.

As Harry sat on his back porch, his back a little stiff after a day of pressure washing, he realized that Louis carried more than him, concerning their relationship. Along with his treatment by management, Harry never confronted the weight living a double life can have on a person. Louis was constantly pretending to be someone he wasn’t, so it was no wonder that seeped into their love life, that Louis felt uncomfortable with the expressions Harry gave to him and craved from him.

Harry was often wrapped up in his own feelings, and couldn’t understand how Louis, the person he felt most comfortable with, could give him the cold shoulder, for days at a time, in the home they shared. Maybe all of this was inevitable. Maybe they were just too young, and it was always the plan that they spend time apart, that they had some time to be adults, alone, to realize they needed each other.

Because their time apart proved to Harry he couldn’t do it alone, and he often felt inept at loving other people. They took too personally his independence, his desire for quietness at times, and they could sense his discomfort. He had only really felt comfortable with Louis. Part of it was the age at which they met, but the other part, with both boys began to ponder that day, Harry in their old home and Louis helping Eleanor fold clothes into suitcases, was if they were just made for each other.

That maybe the reason they could never work it out with anyone else, despite wanting to, even committing themselves to, was because they were bound by something invisible and very powerful, that would make their togetherness inevitable.

Louis thought about how he could love Harry more openly, how he could be a little more gentle, and Harry thought about how he could be more understanding, and less wrapped in himself. Doing one more thing in harmony, they quietly reflected on what they wanted to do next, and for both of them, it was see the other before the week was over.

Louis decided that night, in his music room, beginning to write the bones of new song lyrics, that he wanted to love Harry again, be with Harry again, and be as soft as he was at the very beginning, when they were kids. He was going to finish this song first, and present it to Harry, as his way of starting a vulnerable conversation, a conversation that would be hard for him. That he was sorry, and he was ready to go again, to love Harry.

Harry decided that night, trying to start a fire in their fireplace, that he was ready to separate Louis from their past, to separate himself, while also confronting the emotional trauma they both carried, especially Louis. He was going to be honest with Louis, and be as selfless as possible. Louis displayed a lot of selflessness when Harry first began his solo career. He had wanted to love Louis again for a long time, longer than Louis had thought it was a possibility to love Harry again, and all he was waiting for was a text from him. The go-ahead.

Hey. I know it’s before the week mark, but what about Thursday?

Harry smiled widely at the text, dated Monday, 1 am. So widely he dimpled, and texted back.

Thursday sounds great. Want to do our old place?

Louis replied promptly.

Sounds good. See you then.

As if even the briefest communication with Harry served as inspiration, Louis knew what he would write. He could hear the song begin to form, the music fall together in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very short chapter this morning y'all. im thinking this fic will be wrapped up in 20 chapters, which is more than i thought i would ever write. thanks again for reading!!! comment with what you want to happen. my mind isn't completely made up yet. larry 4ever <3 :))))) also i have a stan twitter you can follow me @snugglewithlou ty guys <3 <3 :)))


	18. Always, Only Ever, You

Harry looked at himself in the mirror, feeling better than he had in days. It was finally Thursday. He can’t remember the last time he had been so excited for a Thursday.

He had a fresh shave, his hair was washed, and he was wearing bottoms that weren’t designed to be slept in for the first time in days. He put on his rings, finding the rose ring Louis gave him when he turned 22 in a jewelry case he had brought from his house to his and Louis’s old house, which he had virtually been living in.

He wore a pink sweater, one he knew Louis had never seen, and made sure the house looked as good as it could. Harry’s efforts in cleaning the place up had surely been effective—the floor looked clean, the couch’s pillows looked good as new, and the emptiness the two of them felt their first night back was melting away. 

The biggest change, what Harry was most excited for Louis to see, was that their pool had been refilled. Harry knew it was January, and days warm enough to jump in were scarce, but the guys who maintained their pool when they lived there were available, and the sight of the empty pool became a bit too sad for Harry to bear.

Louis had done his fair share of preparations, too. 

Clean shave and a haircut, his fringe short like he knew Harry liked, (although Louis could have shown up with the longest fringe he ever had, and Harry would still see hearts), and a pair of jeans that Harry had previously described as, “a true asset to our relationship.”

Louis looked at himself in the mirror and thought about the first night he wore those jeans, when him, Harry, Zayn, and Niall went clubbing in Barcelona, and when they got back to the hotel, both him and Harry were drunk off their asses, Harry’s cheeks perfectly rosy and his eyes stuck on Louis, not a word gone un-slurred between them.

Harry sat down on the hotel bed in the dark room, city lights filtering in through the sheer curtains, and reached for Louis, slurring his words, “Where are you?”

“I’m trying to take off my jeans,” Louis said, trying drunkenly at his belt.

“Forget about it,” Harry told him, reaching for him, almost grabbing him by the waist.

“I don’t want to fall asleep with my jeans on,” Louis protested, avoiding Harry’s reach.

“You must be dense,” Harry sighed.

“I’m not fucking dense,” Louis protested, alcohol fueling the feigned rage behind his response.

“You must be dense,” Harry repeated, messing up considerably the pronunciation of ‘dense,’ “because I’m offering to take off those jeans for you.”

“It’s harder than it looks,” Louis replied, somehow tripping on his own feet, as he swayed drunkenly by the end of the bed.

“I’m going to rip those pants off your nice little ass,” Harry said, almost darkly, but with a signature goofy smile on his face, reaching again.

That time he found Louis, grabbing the bottom hem of his t-shirt and pulling him close.

“Ahh!” Louis exclaimed jokingly, falling into Harry’s lap, the world spinning around him, “what is it with us and threatening to rip clothes off?”

But Harry didn’t answer, as he was too busy kissing Louis’ neck, with no great deal of accuracy, sloppily leaving marks which would undoubtedly show in the morning. And that question was the last real thing Louis said all night, as Harry did get the pants off him, and touched nearly every square inch of his man’s body.

Louis hoped they still provoked the same reaction in Harry, and his wearing them was surely purposeful.

He had gone and bought all the materials they needed for spicy pork rice bowls, save the kimchi, which Harry insisted he provide, and had it between two large cooler bags. Along with the two cooler bags, Louis packed an overnight bag.

Most importantly, Louis had two folded-up pages in his back pocket, with handwritten lyrics, that he was going to give to Harry. It said everything.

Louis got into his car, and pulled out of his driveway, beginning the short drive to his old home.

Harry waited for Louis, looking out the window above their sink at their newly landscaped lawn and pressure-washed driveway, and had an excited feeling in the pit of his stomach. Like this was their first date, like he got to woo Louis all over again.

He was excited.

And when Louis stepped out of his car, hands full of bags, Harry immediately recognized the jeans he was wearing, and felt a pang of adoration for him. He looked little carrying three bags.

Harry went to the front door, opening as Louis approached, “Let me help!”

He went up to Louis, taking a cooler bag. “You would think you need this any ingredients for two people to have rice bowls?” Louis asked, smiling at Harry, taking him in. He looked great. Young, freshly shaven. He smiled to himself, feeling his neck getting warm.

“I told you I could help getting stuff,” Harry said, letting Louis into the house first.

Looking over his shoulder as he entered the house, Louis asked, “The front of the house looks suspiciously good. And you look suspiciously tan.”

Harry shrugged, placing the bag on the countertop, “I had some free time on my hands.”

“You did it yourself?” Louis asked, smiling at Harry.

Harry nodded, “It gave me time to just think.”

Louis rolled his eyes, “I would be ok with never thinking again after the amount I’ve done this week.”

Harry smiled as he watched Louis remember perfectly where they kept their pans, grabbing one and filling the bottom with oil.

“You want me to start doing prep?” Harry asked as Louis began to empty the cooler bags.

“Yes,” Louis answered, “but I would keep my expectations low. I don’t know about you, but I’ve gotten no better in the kitchen.”

“Me neither,” Harry said, helping him unload some veggies.

“One thing I will undoubtedly miss about Eleanor,” Louis sighed, “woman can cook.”

“How did talking to her go?” Harry asked, beginning to cut a head of cabbage.

“Very well,” Louis said, “like almost too well. She was very understanding. It almost felt like she always knew it would happen.”

“Maybe she did always know,” Harry suggested, “I mean, concerning how you met.”

“Fair enough,” Louis said. “She’s starting to move out.”

“How do you feel?”

“Strangely ok,” Louis told him, the meat beginning to sizzle. “I mean, obviously, I’m upset, and I don’t want her to feel betrayed in anyway, but I’m ok, because I don’t think she does.”

Harry came next to him, placing another pan on the stove, and they met eyes. Harry smiled, “I’m glad.”

Louis smiled at him, feeling the warmth in his neck rise. “What did you do with your week, other than pressure washing and gardening? Which are very noble pursuits, by the way.”

“Well, I also cleaned the whole house,” Harry said, “I thought you would’ve said something by now.”

Louis smiled down at the cooking meat, “It looks really nice. Definitely less dusty.”

“I did something else,” Harry said quietly, going to the fridge to find the kimchi.

“You got kimchi?” Louis asked, watching him take out the kimchi.

“Yes,” Harry smiled, “but I also did something else.”

Louis smiled, “Am I gonna have to guess.”

Harry shrugged playfully, closing the fridge door, “Or you could just, like, look out the back window.”

Louis, with a confused look on his face, walked towards the back window, the glare preventing him from seeing through from the kitchen. Once he was close enough, the full glory of their old pool and hot tub, filled with crystal-clear water illuminated by pool lights, nearly warmed his heart.

“Shit, Harry,” Louis laughed, “you should be one of those HGTV show hosts. You did this place up.”

“This place deserves it,” Harry said. 

Louis walked back towards the kitchen, “It looks really good in here. Feels a lot more homey.”

Harry smiled and nodded, and then turned to tend to the meat Louis had left sizzling. “I missed the way it used to feel.”

“Me too,” Louis said, entering back into the kitchen, watching Harry’s back.

The light and casual conversation, which both of them had missed so much, continued as they made dinner, which included a lot of rice, pork, corn, cabbage, broccoli, and onions. It felt like their best times, nothing hung over them, it felt ok. More than ok. It felt good.

As Louis spooned rice into two bowls, and then piled meat and veggies on top, Harry opened the container of kimchi.

“Do you like kimchi?” Harry asked.

“Never had it,” Louis answered, bringing the bowls over to their dining table.

“Really?” Harry asked, stealing a glance at Louis’ backside as he walked away from him.

“Would you expect me to like pickled cabbage?” Louis asked, sitting down in front of his bowl, looking to Harry.

Harry shook his head, “I’m kind of surprised you know what it is.”

“Think of me so lowly, eh?” Louis smiled, watching as Harry sat down in front of him.

Harry smiled at him, his dimples ridiculously deep, and Louis smiled back, his eyes wrinkling. “Never,” Harry replied, sitting down.

Louis began to eat, breaking the fried egg on the top of his bowl, “It’s not bad at all.”

Harry followed in suit, breaking the yolk and beginning to eat, “It’s great.”

Once their plates were scraped clean, and Harry was laughing at a story Louis was telling about a strange taxi ride in Paris, the comfort between them was almost rivaled to what it had been before—before everything, when they were young and had not nearly as many worries.

“Ok,” Harry smiled, leaning back in his chair, “that was really good.”

“Surprisingly good?” Louis asked, standing up, taking his and Harry’s bowls to the sink.

“You’re not nearly as bad in the kitchen as you think you are,” Harry sighed, following Louis, leaning on the counter, watching him load the dishwasher.

“I got lucky,” Louis responded, and once he loaded the dishwasher and closed it, he turned to Harry. “I guess now is when we have to talk about it.”

Harry nodded, his eyes starry, a small smile on his face, “I guess we do.”

“Wanna sit out on the porch?” Louis asked, sticking his hands in his pockets, feeling a pang of nervousness.

“Sure,” Harry nodded, and the two made their way to the back deck, the sun going down over Los Angeles.

The sat in two patio chairs, both facing out towards the Valley, and the anticipation between them manifested as brief moments of awkwardness, both preparing themselves to be vulnerable.

Harry started, “I was thinking a lot, and I realized, mainly, that I never really confronted what you had to go through with our management, and Eleanor, and your general inability to live out your identity. You were really selfless during our relationship, and you shielded me from a lot of things, and I think they hurt you, and I never gave you room to have that hurt, or deal with it at all.”

Louis looked out at the sunset, and then at the ground as Harry talked, his words meaning everything.

“I just want you to know that I know you went through a lot more than I did,” Harry said, “and that people were cruel to you, and that you took it so I didn’t have to. And hurt like that changes people, so I won’t take it so personally anymore.

“Anything that’s happened before between us, any hurt we both have, and I know we both have it, I can recognize, and apologize for it, wholeheartedly, and put it behind me,” Harry continued. “Because sometimes I miss you so much I can hardly stand it, and anything that happened, just doesn’t seem that important anymore. And I’m so sorry.”

Louis felt his eyes begin to water, and looked at Harry, who was looking at him, and nodded, “Me too.”

After a long moment of silence, Louis continued, “I’m not great at stuff like this, so I wrote some stuff for you, if that’s ok.”

Harry nodded, “Of course.”

Louis reached into his back pocket, taking out the pieces of folded paper, handing them to Harry slowly.

Harry unfolded them, and Louis said, “They’re lyrics, and they’re for you.”

Louis watched as Harry read through them, his face changing, forming a tight smile, his eyes beginning to water. He spent time with it, flipping the pages, reading sections again, and then, after what felt like an eternity to Louis, who was sitting, as patiently as possible, watching him, he looked up.

A tear fell down his cheek, and he smiled, “Thank you, Louis.”

Louis nodded, and summoned all his courage, and even though he felt no good at telling people how he felt, he was going to try.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” Louis said, “and I thought part of that was protecting you, but it made me cold, and kind of hard. I don’t want to be like that anymore, and I am so sorry.”

Harry nodded, “I forgive you, and I want to be selfless, for you, like you were for me.”

Louis nodded, and looked at Harry for a long moment, “I want to be with you.”

“Me too,” Harry said quietly, not able to peel his eyes away from Louis.

“And I wanna try,” Louis continued, “and really get it right.”

Harry nodded, “Me too. I’m ready to try.”

Louis smiled, and then laughed lightly, wiping a quick hand under his eye, “How life can change in a week.”

Harry smiled, “Crazy like that, huh?”

Louis nodded, and then reached to Harry, and the two embraced, rather awkwardly, both half in their chairs, half on each other, holding each other tightly, tighter than they had in years, than they had that first night on Louis’ porch not even a week before.

Louis pressed his face against the side of Harry’s head, smelling his shampoo and cologne, feeling that familiar warmth. He finally had Harry back. The impossible had happened. Harry was in all but shock, holding Louis in his arms, his body feeling the way he remembered, only stronger, more ready. Soft but strong, holding all of Harry’s aspirations and secrets.  
Harry leaned back, reluctantly removing part of himself from Louis, only to look Louis in the eyes, their faces mere inches apart, moving a hand to his cheek. He ran his thumb over his cheekbone, Louis’ face perfect, exactly what he wanted.

Louis smiled weakly, feeling lost in Harry’s eyes, wanting him closer, despite their proximity.

“I love you,” Harry whispered.

“I love you,” Louis whispered back, no hesitation in his voice. As if he couldn’t wait any longer, he leaned in and kissed Harry, the feeling of his lips setting something into place inside of him, settling an anxiety that had been in the back of his mind for months.

It felt more right than anything he had ever done, surely more right than when they kissed after Harry’s show in London, and even more right than their last vacation in Bali. Both of them wanted to live forever in that feeling of rightness, in that feeling that they were in the right place, a safe place. 

It was only ever Harry, and it was only ever Louis, and this time, it would be done right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol finally i made it happen. bitches likes to take her time with plot developments. i am bitches. two more chapters bbys!!! ily guys!!! :))))) xoxoxo


	19. This Love of Life Makes Me Weak

Their old bedroom, curtains drawn back, city lights dimly illuminating the room, casting Harry’s shadow onto the furthest wall.

He stood in front of the TV stand, lighting candles, focusing on the small, delicate flame of the lighter. He could hear his own breathing, and was the most aware of his body he had been in a long time.

The soles of his feet felt warm on the cold hardwood, and his sweater felt heavy on his shoulders.

He leaned down once the candles were lit, and opened the TV stand. There was his favorite record player, the one him and Louis had figured how to, after a day of harmless bickering about the logistics, wire into the surround sound they had installed.

Both truly did believe that vinyl sounds better.

Harry knew exactly what to listen to, what he wanted, and what he would bet his life on Louis liking. 

And that was the 1970 album from The Kinks, titled Lola Versus Powerman and the Money-Go-Round, Pt.1., in the form of the vinyl copy Louis stole form his mother’s house. This album had been with them in almost every place they had lived, and was a go-to for when the moment felt right.

Harry took out the disc, lifting the needle on the rim before the second track, Strangers, their favorite off the album.

As if the timing could be no better, the bathroom door opened slightly, light spilling into the dark room for a moment before the light was turned off. 

And there was Louis.

Just like he always had, he excused himself once they got to the bedroom, after a silent walk, Harry leading by just a footstep, to brush his teeth.

Harry turned up the volume just a tad, and stepped back from the TV stand, and looked at Louis. The silence between them was not still, but was stirring with excitement and adoration and the best kind of nervousness, and in the almost-darkness, Harry wanted to stand forever, in anticipation of Louis, of everything it meant and felt like to be with him.

“I love this song,” Louis said, finally, quietly. Harry could see the soft curves and edges of his face in the darkness and wanted him more than ever.

“I know.”

He took two steps towards him, slowly, not breaking eye contact, taking his face gently, finding his lips in the darkness. Louis’ hands went gently to his neck, pressing perfectly against him, their bodies meeting.

Harry’s skin was warm, soft, freshly shaven. His torso against Louis’ felt like an extension of himself, and it began to feel like there were too many layers between them, and Louis found the bottom hem of Harry’s sweater.

Instead of rushing, like Louis was often predisposed to, instead of hurriedly taking off Harry’s sweater and tackling him onto their bed, he firmly grasped his hips and then his back, attempting to pull him closer, as gently as he could.

Harry seemed to feel Louis’ pace, and began to back up, moving slowly until he felt the end of the bed on the back of his legs, pulling Louis with him. Once he felt the bed, he turned them slowly, and smiled against Louis lips, singing along to the song, never above a whisper, “So I will follow you wherever you go,” and then promptly resuming the kiss, feeling Louis’s lips turn into a smile.

Louis gently reclined on the bed, pulling Harry with him, the music quietly surrounding them, loud enough to hear the lyrics but quiet enough that he could hear every breath, every noise that Harry made.

“We are not two, we are one,” Harry said, lips barely off Louis, which made Louis smile, almost laugh.

Louis moved his hands from Harry’s back to his hips, and then slowly worked them under Harry’s sweater, feeling Harry’s bare skin, his hip bones and then his ribs, the goosebumps he was causing.

Harry began to gently bite Louis’ lower lip every time it felt right, and Louis raised his hips as Harry’s lowered his, the friction sorely missed.

In the place of the mind that had been going a mile a minute just moments earlier, there was Harry’s mind, which was now slowed, focused fully, wholly on Louis, on the way their bodies were moving, and how he loved him. 

Harry’s hands confidently made their way under Louis’s top, pulling it up until they had to separate in order to lift it over Louis’ head. With the top on the floor, Harry’s lips were back on Louis’, and Louis’ hands less occupied with Harry’s torso and more occupied with his pants button.

The fidgeting of Louis’ hands, their seeming inability to swiftly and promptly take off a pair of pants, proved torturous for Harry. But Louis had always done that: instead of dedicating himself to the removal of Harry’s pants, he would instead just move his hands over the general area, riling Harry up more than anything.

The naïve part of Harry deemed it accidental, but the rational part knew better. And the patient part allowed Louis to continue, until the button was undone, and pants and boxers were coming off in one fell swoop, falling next to them on the bed.

Harry laughed again against Louis lips, and Louis whispered, “I wouldn’t care if you took off my pants.”

“I want to,” Harry whispered in reply, “but you know how I feel about these pants.”

Louis smiled, his hands on Harry's waist, “And that’s making you not want them off?”

“I just want to take my time,” Harry breathed in reply, and then kissed Louis again, starting with his lips, and then moving purposefully down his neck, over his sternum, and then nearing his navel. Louis breathed with Harry's movements, keeping one hand gently holding the back of Harry's head, all of them feeling so good, and so sorely missed.

When Harry got the waistline of the jeans, his hands spread out on both sides of Louis’ hips, he began to try at the button with his teeth.

“Fuck,” Louis breathed, looking down at Harry, biting his lower lip through a smile.

Harry smiled as the button popped out of place, and found the zipper with his mouth, and struggled, as sexily as possible, to pull it down. He then pulled Louis’ pants off with his hands, but made sure to leave his boxers in place.

He kissed right at the waistband of the red boxers, making Louis push his hips towards him, the movement steadied by Harry’s firm hands on his hips. Harry slowly began to move downwards, kissing the fabric pulled taught by Louis’ hardening member.

Slow, slow torture for the both of them.

Once Louis’ boxers had finally been taken off, and Louis gently pulled Harry’s sweater over his head, the two met in a kiss.

“It’s been a little while,” Louis whispered, eyes closed, holding Harry closely and tightly.

“Ok,” Harry nodded, looking down at Louis sweetly.

“Since I saw you in London,” Louis continued, and Harry could hear nervousness in his voice.

“It’s ok,” Harry hurried to say, nodding, running a thumb down Louis’ cheek. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

Louis’ eyes opened and found Harry’s, and he gave him a small smile, “I want to.”

Harry laughed and again kissed Louis, and then began to sit up, as if he was going to get off the bed.

“Where are you going?” Louis asked, beginning to feel exposed as Harry’s body was removed from his.

Harry froze where he was, which was somewhere between straddling Louis and crawling off the bed, “I was just gonna go get a condom.”

“Oh,” Louis said, taken aback. He knew it wasn’t appropriate for him to be offended, because using a condom is a responsible thing to do, but he wasn’t expecting Harry to use a condom, and his readiness to was almost upsetting.

Harry paused, looking down at Louis, “Do you not want me to wear a condom?”

“I don’t know why,” Louis began, “I just didn’t expect you to. But if you want to, you absolutely should.”

“I thought you would want me to,” Harry said, watching Louis closely.

“I’m happy either way,” Louis said, running a hand up and down Harry’s leg.

Harry smiled, looking at Louis, and got back down on him, kissing him through a smile.

If either one of them had to sum it up, they would say it was overwhelmingly intimate. How it had been when they were at their best; such a significant togetherness that neither one had experienced it with anyone else, so intimate that when Louis finished, just a few moments after Harry, he let out a laugh.

“What?” Harry asked quietly, smiling down at Louis as he moved off him, reaching for his pink sweater.

Louis shook his head, matching Harry’s quiet tone, “You’ve still got it, that’s all.”

Harry wiped himself with his pink sweater, and then handed it to Louis. Louis looked at him, nearly indignantly.

“You did not just do that,” Louis said.

“What?” Harry asked, holding the sweater confusedly.

“That is such a nice sweater and you just used it to,” Louis motioned to it, face contorted.

“It washes out,” Harry sighed, and wiped Louis’s tummy, then discarded the sweater on the floor.

Louis shook his head again as Harry lied down next to him. Louis lifted Harry’s head to slide an arm underneath it, pulling him close, letting his head rest on his chest, tracing circles on Harry’s upper arm with his fingers. The weight of Harry’s body on his was so comfortingly familiar, the way Harry intertwined their legs, all of it. It felt perfect.

“So how was it?” Harry asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Louis smiled and nodded, “Really good.” He looked down at Harry, and kissed his forehead gently, “Really good.”

Harry was beyond pleased Louis was staying in bed, not hurrying to get up, brush his teeth, shower, have a cigarette. He felt lucky to have Louis there, to have Louis holding him, his breathing slowing. No one ever really held him like Louis did.

Louis woke up the next morning, on the opposite side of the bed, knowing he had undoubtedly pushed Harry away from him in his sleep, sick of how warm he got during the night. Sunlight was coming in through the blinds, and Harry’s back, smooth and curved, was illuminated by the brightening morning light.

Louis gently touched Harry’s hair, thumbing over his ear, and then got out of bed, found and pulled on his boxers from last night, and then made his way slowly towards the bathroom. He washed his face and brushed his teeth, feeling truly motivated, for the first time in a while, to take care of himself, to look good.

He turned on the water in the shower, anticipating bad water pressure, as Harry had complained about earlier in the week, but the water hit his hand hard, how he liked it.

Louis slowly walked back out to the bedroom, and while Harry looked nearly glorious sleeping on his stomach, sheets wrapped around his waist, his sculpted back beckoning Louis, he needed to know if he had gotten the water pressure fixed. 

Once he was on Harry’s side of the bed, he sat down on the edge, and pushed Harry’s hair behind his ear, “Hey.”

But then he remembered how difficult it was to wake up Harry, and while he liked the imagine of him waking Harry with a gentle greeting, he knew that wasn’t their reality.

Louis took Harry’s shoulder firmly in his hand and shook, and then said, almost uncomfortably loudly, “Harry.”

Harry’s eyes opened, startled, and he began to sit up.

“Hey, sorry,” Louis said, not as loudly, smiling at Harry.

Harry smiled back, as he realized where he was, and who he was with, and rasped, voice heavy with sleep, “You ok?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis nodded, “I just wanted to see if you fixed the water pressure.”

Harry nodded, “Yeah, I had a guy come out. Is it bad again?”

Louis shook his head, “No, no, it’s great.”

“Then why’d you wake me up?” Harry smiled cheekily, looking at Louis.

Louis rolled his eyes, “I’m impressed, that’s it. Alright, go back to bed. I’m gonna shower.”

Louis stood, leaving Harry’s side, and began again towards the bathroom.

“You’re not gonna invite me?” Harry asked, watching as Louis walked away.

Louis turned around, standing in the doorway to the bathroom, “You’re always invited in the shower, you know that.”

Louis made his way into the bathroom, smiling as he heard Harry’s footsteps approach behind him, and took of his boxers. He walked into the large shower, standing under the large faucet hanging from the ceiling, and watched as Harry got in behind him, coming close.

As they shared the water, Louis looked at Harry, “Sleep good?”

Harry nodded, splashing water onto his face, “Oh yeah. You?”

Louis nodded, reaching for the body wash Harry had placed there earlier in the week. He began to wash up, not looking at Harry, but seeming so comfortable at the same time. Harry put out his hand, and Louis wiped some of the suds of his hands on Harry’s, as if he had never forgotten how they used to do it.

“I was thinking,” Louis began, looking at Harry, nearly carefully, “that we should take some time to just be alone.”

Harry nodded, “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

Louis glanced at Harry as he investigated the shampoo and conditioner newly placed in the shower, and after deciding he would use it, said, “I was thinking a lot of time.”

“Like how much?” Harry asked, again holding out a hand, and Louis, again, wiping some shampoo on it.

Louis glanced at Harry, nervous, “Like a year.”

Harry looked at him, “You want to be alone with me for a year?”

“No,” Louis said quickly. “I mean, yes, but not like that. I’m not saying we should move to a desert island and stare at nothing but each other for a year, but I think that right now, if one of us were to jump into too much stuff for work, or touring, all of this,” Louis motioned to their comfort, domesticity, “could be, compromised.”

Harry nodded, “I see what you’re saying.”

Louis began to rinse his hair, waiting anxiously for Harry to say something more.

“I’m not trying to be demanding or complicated,” Louis told him, and before he could say anything else, Harry said, “I know, L. I think you’re right. I think we do need a year.”

Louis smiled, not too largely, as it would be hard for them both to take a year—a very long time—off work. Louis hoped Harry was as sold on the idea as he was.

“It’s just gonna be hard to get a year,” Harry told him, still facing Louis as he began to rinse his hair.

Louis nodded, “I know.”

Harry wiped his hands over his face, and made sure he had Louis eyes, “I’ll try if you will. If that’s what you want.”

“I want you to want it too,” Louis told him.

“I do,” Harry said, and he meant it, and Louis could feel it.

“I have an idea, though,” Louis smiled, “of something that might clear our minds.”

Harry smiled back, running fingers through his wet hair, attempting to detangle it, “Yeah?”

Louis nodded, smiling back, not wanting to ever leave Harry or the shower, speckled with sunlight, that they were sharing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second to last chapter uwu. this has been so fun to write!!!! ily guys!!!!! :)))) let me know what you think


	20. Dear Lily

Dear Lily,  
February 6, 2020

We’ve never to been to Bali this time of the year. It’s beautiful. L wears sweatpants in the morning and shorts by noon, and I wait for him to wake up on the back patio, and I’m drinking too much coffee. But I can forgive myself—Indonesian coffee is without compare.

It was not easy deciding to leave. A lot of things had to go on hold, and for a little while, I felt like I was disappointing a lot of people, even you. Maybe I am.

But the first moment I stepped into the villa we chose for the next thirteen months to call our home, tucked away on virtually the other side of the world, I knew I had made the right decision. We can see the sunrise from the back patio and the sunset from the balcony off our bedroom on the second floor. It’s a two-minute walk to the beach, and we go almost every day.

My guitar and sound equipment arrived by mail yesterday, and L helped me set it up in the spare bedroom downstairs. Thank you so much for helping arrange that. I want to put music to the lyrics he wrote for me, and while I try to do so, he sits in the room with me, either napping or giving very useful advice, for hours on end.

We’ve both given up trying to cook for ourselves and are nightly patrons at a local place down the street that makes the best bir pletoks, which have become me and L’s favorite. For breakfast, L has a cigarette and I have a piece of toast, and always try to convince him to also have a piece.

He never does.

I’m unsure how I’ll go back to normal life after this. L always being fingertip-length from me is such a luxury, being able to write music with him, swim in our pool with him, listen to him yell at the TV watching a football match, collect his clothes from around our bedroom to do laundry on Saturdays—all of it, I never want to end.

L was right. We needed this. We needed an adjustment, time away to remember who we were and what we wanted. I am Harry, and I want Louis. More than I want a career or success, I want a family, and love, and that begins with L. I am determined to change his mind about marriage—by the end of this thirteen months, I know I will have proposed to him at least twice in a drunken stupor, and he will have said yes at least once.

If we do ever get married, you will be at the top of the guest list.

Everything feels healthier, more rounded. When we get drunk, I can’t stop staring into his eyes, and L can’t stop hanging off me, and I never complain. We dance in the local bars and hold each other as we walk down the street, and I am so, so lucky.

Lily, I’m writing to give you an update, but, more importantly, to thank you. Thank you for listening to me just a month ago, letting me tell you everything. My life is different, and so much better, because of it. Please write me if you need anything (I’m serious), and feel free to stop by our house if you want to take a swim. I don’t want the pool to go neglected for too long.

All my thanks and love,

H.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR READING. she's finally, 100%, completely done. i'm so happy so many people have read it and so many people liked it from the beginning. this has made quarantine bearable for me and im so thankful for all of you. stay safe and healthy yall. larry 4ever. xoxoxo

**Author's Note:**

> heyyy guyysss !!! thank you so much for reading. im so happy people still read larry fic lol. anyway i just wanted to say that i know there are a lot of historical inaccuracies in the fic coming up and i tried my best it's just hard to remember the exact dates/details of some of this stuff. im really sorry guys. but you guys are the BEST. thank you soooooooo much for reading :))) i appreciate each and every one of you for reading and supporting. it has been so fulfilling for me the past few months. 
> 
> ALSO-- update !!! i'm going to be writing a few one-shots (totally non-au and canon compliant!!!) that are based on this story. i wanted to keep on writing but felt really happy where i ended this so i thought i would do some one-shots. some are happy some are sad. please check it out!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/24482611/chapters/59093170
> 
> i love our little fandom xoxoxo


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